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ASHES  OF  ROSES 


ASHES  OF  ROSES.  BY 

LOUISE  KNIGHT 
WHEATLEY 


NEW    YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1893 
BY    DODD,    MEAD    &    COMPANY 


All  rights  reserved 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

I. — UNCLE  JOHN'S  SUCCESS,   ...          i 
II. — A  MORNING  OF  RETROSPECTION,  .        .     40 

III.— THE  DAYS  Go  BY 67 

IV. — A  STORY  OF  THE  PAST,        .        .        .94 
V. — A  SIMPLE  SERVICE,  ....       129 

VI.— MY  SECRET 173 

v 


17821G5 


ASHES  OF  ROSES 


UNCLE    JOHN  S   SUCCESS 

"T    ET'S    go!"   said  Uncle  John,  with 
L/  sudden  enthusiasm,  tossing  his  ci- 
gar over  the  piazza-rail  into  the  tangle  of 
honeysuckle  vines  below. 

No  wonder  we  both  looked  up  in  sur- 
prise as  this  most  unexpected  bit  of  ani- 
mation broke  the  long  lazy  silence  that 
had  somehow  taken  possession  of  our  lit- 
tle group.  The  cigar  glowed  for  a  mo- 
ment in  the  darkness,  then  smouldered 
ignominiously  and  went  out.  Would  my 
uncle's  new-born  enthusiasm  meet  with 
the  same  untimely  end? 

Not  so.  He  had  actually  risen  to  do 
justice  to  the  occasion,  thrust  both  hands 


Ashes  of  Roses 


deep  into  his  pockets  and  squared  himself 
about  to  meet  the  opposing  forces. 

"Let's  go,"  he  repeated.  "That's 
what  I  say,  my  dear.  I've  wanted  to  go 
all  along,  but  didn't  like  to  mention  it! 
And  here's  my  poor  little  lady-bird  wast- 
ing her  sweetness  on  two  old  folks  like 
us,  and  sitting  quietly  at  home  with  lamb- 
like resignation,  when  she's  dying  all  the 
time  to  get  out  in  the  world  and  break  a 
heart  or  two,  just  to  keep  her  hand  in!" 

"Nonsense!"  laughed  Aunt  Kate. 
"She  isn't  dying  to  do  any  such  thing. 
I'm  sure  she  is  quite  contented  and  happy 
as  she  is.  Aren't  you,  child?" 

Whereupon  the  "child,"  otherwise 
"  lady-bird  "  otherwise  myself,  dear  read- 
er, returned  a  dutiful  "  Oh  yes  indeed, 
Auntie!"  into  which  she  strove  to  infuse 
the  proper  amount  of  warm  and  cheerful 
acquiescence. 

"  That's  all  right,"  went  on  Uncle  John 
with  that  dogged  persistence  which  I  find 
the  best  of  men  sometimes  develop  unex- 
pectedly when  occasion  demands.  "  Ruth 
may  be  very  contented  and  happy,  my 


Uncle  John's  Success 


dear,  but  that  is  no  reason  why  she  should 
not  enjoy  attending  Mrs.  Mitchell's  party 
just  the  same.  We've  not  taken  her  out 
once  since  she  came,  and  I  think  she  ought 
to  go,  that's  what  I  think  about  it!" 

Whereupon  Ruth  made  up  her  small 
mind  then  and  there  that  Uncle  John 
certainly  was  the  very  best,  nicest,  dar- 
lingest  Uncle  in  the  whole  world,  and  she 
always  knew  it.  But  she  said  nothing — 
oh  wonder  of  wonders!  For  once  in  her 
life,  at  least,  she  had  the  good  sense  to 
keep  quiet,  though  I  won't  deny  that  she 
clasped  her  hands  rather  nervously  to- 
gether under  cover  of  the  friendly  dark- 
ness. 

But  Aunt  Kate  was  not  prone  to  fly  to 
pieces  as  I  was,  at  the  mere  prospect  of 
a  "party."  She  only  relieved  her  feelings 
by  a  well-bred  shudder,  and  remarked 
that  one  met  such  dreadfully  mixed  people 
at  parties  in  these  western  towns,  and  she 
was  sure  Ruth  would  not  enjoy  the  con- 
tact at  all,  brought  up  as  she  had  been. 

"That's  just  it!"  broke  in  Uncle  John. 
"  That's  the  only  trouble  with  Ruth— she 


Ashes  of  Roses 


hasn't  been  brought  up  like  other  girls. 
Now  she  has  come  west,  let  her  see  a  lit- 
tle of  the  world  and  of  people,  and  get 
her  eyes  open.  It  will  do  her  lots  of 
good." 

"  I  doubt  it.  Young  girls  shouldn't  go 
out  in  the  world  too  soon." 

"By  Jove,  Kate,  how  you  do  talk! 
You  don't  want  her  to  be  a  child  all  her 
life,  I  hope?  and  that's  what  she  will  be, 
at  this  rate.  With  her  father's  peculiar 
ideas — " 

"Hush,  John!"  said  my  aunt,  hastily. 
"  Be  careful,  dear.  Of  course  we  will  go 
if  you  wish  it  so  much — drop  in  for  a  few 
moments,  perhaps,  and  come  home  early. 
It  won't  take  me  long  to  get  ready,  and 
as  for  you,  Ruth,  the  dress  you  have  on 
will  be  quite  nice  enough,  I  think.  Run 
upstairs  and  smooth  your  hair  and  get 
your  hat — and  a  clean  handkerchief." 

I  needed  no  second  bidding,  but  went 
skipping  up  the  broad,  dimly-lighted 
stairway,  wild  with  joy.  For  I  was  only 
seventeen,  then,  and  the  magic  name  of 
"  party  "  still  had  the  power  to  thrill  one 


Uncle  John's  Success 


with  delightful  tremors  and  misgivings, 
and  make  my  silly  little  heart  beat  like  a 
trip-hammer.  How  nice  it  was  to  be 
through  school  at  last,  and  a  full-fledged 
young  lady  "out  in  society"! 

Alas!  poor  foolish  damsel,  puffed  up 
by  the  weight  of  her  seventeen  years. 
She  must  have  had  very  nearly  as  clear 
and  comprehensive  an  idea  of  society 
about  that  time,  as  the  yellow-feathered 
chicken  who  pecks  his  way  from  his  shell 
into  the  great  world  beyond,  and  proudly 
hops  about  on  his  two  shaky  little  legs, 
happy  in  the  belief  that  he  knows  it  all ! 

But  I  had  to  admit  as  I  stood  before 
the  glass  that  night,  hurriedly  giving  my 
hair  the  required  smoothing,  that  it  was 
a  provokingly  childish  face  that  smiled 
back  at  me  from  the  big  mirror. 

"Will  you  never  grow  up,  you  little 
goose?"  I  cried,  vindictively  shaking  my 
brush  at  the  offending  image,  all  my  high 
and  exalted  visions  vanishing  into  thin 
air.  "Will  you  never  get  so  old  that 
people  will  stop  telling  you  not  to  forget 
a  clean  pocket-handkerchief,  and  to  be 


Ashes  of  Roses 


sure  to  remember  your  prayers  every 
night?  Good  gracious!  When  I'm  mar- 
ried I'll  never  even  mention  pocket-hand- 
kerchiefs to  my  children  as  long  as  I  live, 
bless  their  little  hearts!"  with  which  phil- 
anthropic resolution  for  the  peace  of 
mind  of  future  generations,  I  caught  up 
fan,  gloves  and  shawl,  blew  out  the  light 
with  conscientious  care,  and  flew  down- 
stairs to  join  my  respected  relatives. 

We  had  to  wait  some  time  for  Auntie, 
but  when  she  did  appear  at  last,  in  her 
trailing  gray  gown  I  thought  I  never  saw 
her  looking  prettier,  and  I  couldn't  help 
breaking  off  a  spray  of  honeysuckle  and 
kissing  her  softly  as  I  fastened  it  in  the 
lace  at  her  throat.  She  was  so  tall  and 
beautiful  and  pale,  dear  Aunt  Kate,  and 
I  did  admire  her  so  thoroughly ! — proba- 
bly because  she  was  so  complete  a  con- 
trast to  myself  in  every  way. 

As  we  stepped  from  the  shadowy  depths 
of  the  piazza,  into  the  moonlight  it  seemed 
almost  like  a  transition  into  another 
world.  The  streets  were  well-filled  with 
pedestrians,  for  it  was  not  yet  nine  o'clock, 

6 


Uncle  John's  Success 


and  as  we  three,  arm-in-arm,  sauntered 
leisurely  in  the  direction  of  the  residence 
of  our  hostess,  we  met  many  of  Uncle's 
friends  who  bowed  and  half  stopped  for  an 
instant  to  cast  a  second  glance  at  pretty 
Aunt  Kate  in  her  shimmering  gray  dress. 
It  was  a  lovely  walk,  and  I  so  enjoyed 
hanging  on  Uncle's  arm  and  chattering 
sense  or  nonsense  as  the  fancy  took  me, 
that  I  was  almost  sorry  when  we  reached 
our  destination.  It  was  not  far — dis- 
tances are  not  great  in  Prairie  City — and 
fifteen  minutes  from  the  time  we  left  the 
house  we  were  in  the  brilliantly-lighted 
parlour,  shaking  hands  with  the  gracious, 
faultlessly-gowned  hostess  who  had  rus- 
tled forward  to  greet  us. 

The  lights  and  music  and  laughter 
were  a  little  confusing  at  first,  and  in 
spite  of  my  boasted  seventeen  years  I  felt 
uncommonly  shy  and  childish,  somehow, 
as  I  looked  over  that  sea  of  smiling,  be- 
wildering faces.  To  begin  with,  it  was 
almost  my  first  real,  "  grown-up  "  party, 
and  as  if  that  were  not  enough,  I  had 
been  in  Prairie  City  so  short  a  time  that 


Ashes  of  Roses 


everyone  in  the  room  was  a  stranger  to 
me.  The  ordeal  of  an  introduction  was 
necessarily  a  trying  one,  but  it  did  come 
to  an  end  after  a  while,  and  after  making 
the  round  of  the  two  parlours,  western 
fashion,  I  found  myself  landed  at  last  on 
a  certain  green  sofa  in  an  obscure  corner 
of  the  room. 

As  I  glanced  about  me,  trying  to  re- 
cover breath  and  composure  by  plying 
my  small  pink  fan  industriously,  I  spied 
Auntie,  tall  and  graceful,  the  centre  of  an 
admiring  group,  while  Uncle  seemed  to 
be  devoting  himself  to  a  young  brunette 
in  yellow  who  was  laughing  incessantly 
and  rather  more  loudly,  I  thought,  than 
was  strictly  necessary.  Everyone  looked 
happy  and  animated,  and  the  music  strik- 
ing up  just  then,  the  solid  mass  of  hu- 
manity dissolved  into  floating  particles  of 
light  and  colour. 

It  was  a  pretty  scene,  and  I  watched  it 
very  contentedly  until  an  appalling 
thought  struck  me,  and  I  gazed  at  the 
white  programme  dangling  from  my  finger 
in  undisguised  consternation.  Here  it 


Uncle  John's  Success 


was  half-past  nine,  the  dancing  well  be- 
gun, and  my  poor  card  as  serenely  chaste 
and  unsullied  as  when  it  was  given  to  me! 

I  groaned  aloud,  and  indeed  was  not 
the  prospect  of  becoming  a  full-fledged 
wall-flower  well  calculated  to  strike  terror 
into  the  soul  of  any  ex-schoolgirl  of  seven- 
teen? Twelve  numbers!  Was  I  doomed 
to  sit  through  them  all,  on  that  identical 
green  sofa,  with  my  head,  like  Mr.  Jelly- 
by's,  against  the  wall! 

I  think  my  horror-stricken  eyes  must 
have  interpreted  my  thoughts,  for  a  lady 
on  the  other  end  of  the  long  sofa — a  sweet- 
faced  lady,  by  the  way,  whom  I  had  not 
noticed  before — leaned  forward  and  said 
pleasantly,  though  with  a  smile  lurking 
on  her  lips, 

"  I  fear  you  have  not  taken  advantage 
of  your  privilege,  Miss  Edwards?" 

"What  privilege?"  I  returned,  rather 
perplexed. 

"  Why  this  is  a  Leap-year  affair,  you 
know,"  she  explained,  "and  the  ladies  are 
expected  to  ask  the  gentlemen  to  dance. 
A  nice  idea,  is  it  not?" 


Ashes  of  Roses 


"Oh,  very  nice!"  I  echoed  forlornly. 
"  Almost  the  nicest  thing  I  ever  heard 
of!" 

And  then  we  both  laughed. 

"You  see,"  I  confessed, — she  had  such 
kind  eyes  I  couldn't  help  telling  her — "  I 
suppose  it  is  a  nice  idea  for  the  people 
who  are  very  well  acquainted,  but  when 
you  have  only  been  in  the  town  a  week, 
and  you  don't  know  anybody,  and  any- 
body doesn't  know  you  " — I  grew  a  little 
confused,  but  wound  up  bravely — •"  why 
then  it's  different,  you  see!" 

"Yes,  I  see,"  she  said.  "It  isn't  quite 
so  nice  then,  I  dare  say.  But  after  all 
you  needn't  mind,  for  I'm  sure  the  young 
men  will  be  only  too  glad  to  dance  with 
you." 

"Oh,  do  you  think  so?"  I  cried  grate- 
fully. "  I  am  ever  so  much  obliged  to  you, 
truly!  I  just  wish  you  were  a  man,  and 
I'd  ask  you  this  minute!  But  the — the 
real  ones,  you  know,  seem  so  stiff  and 
dreadful,  somehow,  and  besides  I  don't 
know  a  single  name,  not  one!"  I  finished 
triumphantly. 


Uncle  John's  Success 


"  I  thought  I  saw  Mrs.  Mitchell  intro- 
duce you  ?" 

"Oh,  I've  met  them  all,"  I  returned, 
sweepingly,  "  but  there  were  so  many  and 
we  went  around  so  fast,  that  I  forgot  the 
names  right  off." 

"  Perhaps  I  can  assist  you  there,  how- 
ever. Do  you  see  that  young  man  by  the 
window  with  his  hand  on  a  chair?  His 
name  is  Mr.  Sessions,  a  very  good  dancer, 
I  can  assure  you,  and  rather  a  stranger 
here,  too.  Suppose  you  try  him?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"No,"  said  I.  "I  don't  want  him. 
He  may  be  very  nice,  but  his  hair  is  too 
slippery  and  his  shirt  humps  just  awfully 
in  front.  I  wish  somebody  would  tell  him 
about  it." 

"  I  see  you  are  as  particular  as  most 
young  ladies  of  your  age,"  she  laughed. 
"  Well,  pick  out  someone  to  suit  yourself, 
then,  only  make  haste,  for  if  you  don't, 
all  the  best  ones  will  be  gone,  and  I'll 
predict  for  you  a  most  desperately  stupid 
evening." 

Who  could  resist  any  longer  u,nd?r  such 


Ashes  of  Roses 


pressure,  combined  as  it  was  with  the 
alluring  strains  of  a  Strauss  waltz?  I  sat 
for  an  instant  impatiently  tapping  the 
floor  with  my  foot,  keeping  time,  as  in- 
deed all  my  pulses  were,  to  the  rhythm  of 
sound,  and  then — 

"I'll  do  it!"  said  I,  with  the  courage 
born  of  despair.  "  I  might  as  well  suc- 
cumb first  as  last,  I  suppose — and  to  tell 
the  truth  I  just  can't  sit  and  listen  to  that 
divine  waltz  another  minute.  There!  It 
has  stopped,  and  I  have  the  whole  room- 
ful of  men  to  choose  from,  for  the  next." 

I  rose  and  stood  hesitating. 

"  Just  wait  till — ah,  I  think  I  have  dis- 
covered the  victim  at  last,  that  old  gen- 
tleman in  the  corner  there,  with  the  white 
hair.  He's  an  elegant  dancer,  for  I  no- 
ticed him  a  few  moments  ago,  and  he's 
so  old  I  shan't  mind  asking  him  a  bit. 
He'll  be  a  good  one  to  start  with,  don't 
you  think,  just  to  practise  on,  and  learn 
how  to  do  it?" 

"  You  mean  that  tall  one  with  his  back 
to  us?"  said  my  companion,  turning  her 
head  quickly. 

12 


Uncle  John's  Success 


"Yes,"  I  answered.  "That's  the  very 
one.  I  have  a  vague  recollection  of  be- 
ing presented  to  him,  but  can't  tell  his 
name  to  save  my  life.  Who  is  he?" 

"His  name  is  Dennington, "  said  the 
lady,  and  she  looked  at  me  rather  curi- 
ously, I  remembered  afterward,  as  she 
spoke. 

"  Thanks, "  I  said,  gaily,  "  many  thanks, 
and  I  only  hope  I  won't  forget  it  before 
I  get  across  the  room.  Now  watch  me, 
for  I'm  going  at  once,  before  my  courage 
fails,"  and  with  a  merry  nod  and  smile,  I 
picked  up  my  fan  and  started  bravely 
toward  the  corner  where  stood  my  pros- 
pective victim. 

But  it  proved  more  of  an  ordeal  than  I 
had  fancied,  for  on  closer  investigation  I 
found  him  surrounded  by  a  bevy  of  pretty 
young  girls,  all  chattering  like  so  many 
sparrows.  I  never  in  my  life  was  afraid 
of  girls  before,  but  for  some  reason  now 
it  was  they,  and  not  the  old  gentleman 
who  made  me  long  to  beat  an  ignominious 
retreat,  back  to  the  old  sofa.  But  I  saw 
that  escape  was  out  of  the  question,  at 


Ashes  of  Roses 


that  late  hour,  and  without  hesitation 
joined  the  group — with  what  inward  trem- 
blings no  one  ever  knew! 

He  had  his  back  to  rne  and  did  not  see, 
though  almost  everyone  else  was  staring  at 
the  small  figure  which  had  suddenly  come 
into  their  midst.  But  I  had  too  much 
pride  to  falter  now. 

"If  you  please,  sir,"  I  said,  rather  tim- 
idly, touching  his  arm  lightly  as  I  spoke, 
"I  don't  know  very  many  people  here — 
and  they  said  I  must  ask  somebody — and 
I  thought  you  were  the  oldest  one,  and 
wouldn't  mind,  perhaps,  giving  me  just 
one  dance  ?" 

He  turned,  and  looked  down  upon  me 
quietly  with  the  kindest  of  brown  eyes  but 
did  not  answer. 

"Just  one?"  I  repeated,  thinking  he 
did  not  understand. 

"  I  would  give  you  a  thousand,  little 
lady,  if  I  had  them,"  he  said  at  last. 
"  But  you  see  my  programme  ?  it  is  really 
impossible, "and  he  turned  toward  me  the 
tiny  card  which  I  saw  at  a  glance  was 
quite  full, 

14 


Uncle  John's  Success 


"Ye-es, "  I  faltered,  provoked  to  feel 
the  blood  rush  into  my  cheeks  as  I  looked. 
"Yes,  I  see." 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  went  on,  still  looking 
down  at  me  with  those  gentle  eyes.  "  If 
you  had  come  but  a  few  moments  earlier 
I  think  we  might  have  managed  it.  I  am 
very  sorry  that  I  did  not  know  before." 

"  Yes, "  said  I,  raising  my  drooping  head 
and  smiling  rather  forlornly.  "  So  am  I. 
But  you  see  it  took  me  a  good  while  to 
make  up  my  mind  to  come  at  all!" 

I  wondered  as  I  looked  at  him  what 
age  he  could  possibly  be,  for  although  his 
hair  was  white  as  the  driven  snow  it  was 
wonderfully  thick,  and  just  the  least  bit 
curly,  and  his  face  was  still  oddly  youth- 
ful, and  bronzed  to  the  ruddy  freshness 
of  a  man  accustomed  to  an  outdoor  life. 
The  long  drooping  moustache  was  white 
like  his  hair,  as  were  also  his  eyebrows, 
under  which  shone  with  a  strange  richness 
those  velvety  eyes,  soft  as  any  woman's. 

How  long  we  might  have  stood  staring 
at  each  other  I  do  not  know,  for  he 
seemed  to  be  regarding  me  with  an  equally 

15 


Ashes  of  Roses 


intent  interest,  but  the  opening  notes  of 
the  next  dance  interrupted  us,  and  with  a 
few  murmured  apologies  I  beat  a  hasty 
retreat  back  to  the  old  sofa.  There  I  re- 
seated myself,  fervently  wishing  that  I 
had  never  left  it,  but  determined  to  play 
the  role  of  wall-flower  as  gracefully  as 
possible  during  the  remainder  of  the  even- 
ing. 

But  the  fates  had  decreed  otherwise, 
and  for  some  unexplained  reason  I  soon 
found  myself  surrounded  suddenly  by  a 
number  of  young  men,  who  said,  very 
kindly,  that  they  knew  it  was  against  the 
rules  of  the  evening,  but  seeing  that  I 
was  a  stranger  here,  etc.,  etc. 

It  was  ever  so  good  in  them,  and  of 
course  I  was  only  too  delighted  to  see  my 
poor  empty  card  pass  quickly  from  hand 
to  hand,  and  those  wonderful  ball-room 
hieroglyphics  rain  down  upon  it.  When 
it  again  reached  me,  with  every  dance 
taken,  a  handsome  young  military  officer 
gave  me  his  arm  and  in  a  moment  more, 
— oh,  bliss!  oh  rapture!  we  were  actually 
dancing! 

16 


Uncle  John's  Success 


Of  course  that  was  only  the  beginning 
of  my  joy.  Dance  followed  dance  in 
quick  succession,  and  I  was  supremely 
happy.  At  the  end  of  the  sixth  number 
I  was  standing  alone  by  the  open  window, 
my  partner  having  left  to  hunt  up  my  lost 
fan,  when  I  heard  a  quiet  step  behind  me 
and  turned  to  see  Mr.  Dennington  ap- 
proaching. 

"  Ah,  I  have  found  you  at  last,"  he  said, 
gaily.  "  I  was  almost  afraid  that  those 
twinkling  little  slippers  had  floated  you 
out  of  some  convenient  window,  and  away 
from  us  altogether." 

"No  indeed!"  I  returned,  as  gaily  as 
he.  "  I  am  here  yet,  you  see,  one  hundred 
and  twelve  good  substantial  pounds  of 
me!" 

How  very  tall  he  seemed,  as  he  stood 
beside  me! 

"Excellent!"  he  said  laughing.  "I 
never  should  have  guessed  it!  However, 
before  that  partner  of  yours  returns,  Miss 
Edwards,  I  have  a  favour  to  ask." 

He  turned  his  programme  toward  me 
and  I  saw  that  the  name  after  the  8th 

17 


dance,  a  mysterious  Miss  M ,  had  been 

crossed  out  since  I  saw  it  last. 

"  I  have  slipped  out  of  it,  you  see,"  he 
went  on,  "don't  ask  me  how,  for  I  hardly 
know*myself.  It  requiring  some  manoeu- 
vring, I  can  assure  you,  but  I  think  the 
end  was  accomplished  without  offending 
the  good  lady  in  the  least.  So  my  con- 
science is  clear,  and  I  have  hastened  to 
show  you  the  result  of  my  labours." 

"Ever  so  good  of  you,"  I  rejoined  po- 
litely. "But  why  did  you  do  it?  Isn't 
she  a  good  dancer?" 

He  gave  me  a  quick  glance. 

"One  of  the  best  in  the  room,"  he  re- 
plied shortly. 

"  Not  pretty,  perhaps  ?"  I  suggested, 
hopefully. 

"  On  the  contrary,  she  is  extremely  so." 

I  stared  at  him  with  all  my  might — and 
then  it  suddenly  occurred  to  me  that  I  had 
been  very,  very  stupid.  Oh,  for  some  of 
the  dear  old  boy-and-girl  frolics,  when 
the  boys  just  said,  "  Come  on,  Ruthie!" 
and  whirled  me  off  without  ceremony! 
Was  grown-up  society  all  like  this,  full  of 

18 


Uncle  John's  Success 


traps  and  pitfalls  for  the  unwary  ?  And 
if  so,  why  in  the  world  had  no  one  ever 
told  me? 

But  Mr.  Dennington  was  speaking,  and 
something  in  his  voice  told  me  that  he 
understood  my  embarrassment. 

"You  will  give  the  dance  to  me,  per- 
haps?" he  said,  gently. 

I  handed  him  my  card  without  a  word, 
and  he  ran  his  finger  quickly  down  the 
list. 

"  It  seems  to  be  taken,"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  mournfully.  "It's 
of  no  use,  you  see." 

"  But  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  Who  is 
this  H.  W.  if  it's  a  fair  question  ?" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know!"  I  returned, 
my  spirits  rising  so  far  as  to  enable  me  to 
look  at  him  for  the  first  time  since  my  un- 
lucky blunder.  "  When  the  dance  begins, 
the  man  who  corresponds  to  those  initials 
will  appear,  and  I  shall  dance  with  him. 
That  is  all  I  have  to  do,  you  see,  and  it 
saves  me  ever  so  much  worry. " 

"Then  I  don't  suppose  you  would  break 
your  heart,  exactly,  if  you  shouldn't  dance 

19 


Ashes  of  Roses 


with  him  at  all — as  long  as  he  is  merely  a 
name  to  you  ?" 

"Merely  a  name,"  I  echoed.  "And 
what's  in  a  name!" 

"  But  answer  me  seriously,  please. 
Would  you  really  care?" 

"  Seriously  then,  since  you  wish  it,  I 
shouldn't  care  in  the  least.  It  doesn't 
matter  at  all  whom  I  dance  No.  8  with, 
as  long  as  I  dance  it  with  somebody. 
One's  partner  is  the  least  important  part 
of  the  dance,  you  know." 

"Oh,  unquestionably!  And  so  I  am  to 
understand  that  you  would  be  quite  will- 
ing to  give  anyone  else — say  me,  perhaps 
— this  dance  which  H.  W.  seems  to  claim 
at  present?" 

"  If  I  could  do  it  without  offending 
him?" 

"Most  certainly." 

"  Then  I  should  be  quite  willing,  for  I 
really  would  like  very  much  to  dance 
with  you." 

"  Thank  you.  That  is  sufficient.  I  will 
make  it  all  right  with  the  gentleman,"  and 
without  another  word  he  coolly  drew  his 

20 


Uncle  John's  Success 


pencil  through  the  objectionable  initials, 
wrote  his  own  name  above  them,  placed 
the  card  in  my  hands  again,  bowed  po- 
litely and  was  gone! 

Good  gracious!  What  had  I  done?  He 
had  said  he  would  "make  it  all  right," 
but  could  he  ?  What  in  the  world  would 
Mr.  H.  W.  say,  and  would  he  be  pugilis- 
tically  inclined  ? 

I  glanced  furtively  about  the  room, 
wondering  which  of  the  numerous  young 
men  the  one  in  question  might  prove  to 
be,  and  if  he  would  be  so  very,  very  mad ! 
A  youth  with  auburn  locks  stood  leaning 
against  the  mantel-piece,  and  I  shut  my 
eyes  and  devoutly  hoped  that  he  might 
not  turn  out  to  be  the  one,  for  if  so, 
I  was  certain  that  Mr.  Dennington's 
chances  of  making  it  all  right  were,  to  say 
the  least,  slim !  For  to  my  unsophisticated 
soul,  an  engagement  to  dance  was  as 
sacred  as  the  law  of  the  Medes  and  Per- 
sians, and  I  had  an  overwhelming  sense 
of  guilt  already. 

And  then  I  began  to  wonder  why  Mr. 
Dennington  had  committed  a  similar 


Ashes  of  Roses 


breach  of  etiquette,  and  gone  to  all  that 
trouble  just  to  get  a  dance  with  me.  It 
couldn't  be  very  interesting  to  him,  I 
thought,  to  waste  his  time  on  a  little  slip 
of  a  girl  who  might  easily  have  been  his 
daughter,  and  whose  brown  head  only  just 
reached  to  his  shoulder! 

But  my  fan  and  my  partner  returning 
about  this  time,  I  stopped  troubling  my- 
self with  these  grave  questions,  and  had 
soon  forgotten  them  altogether. 

The  next  dance  but  one  was  No.  8,  and 
sooner  than  I  had  thought  possible  it  ar- 
rived, and  with  it  Mr.  Dennington. 

"I  am  here,  you  see,"  he  remarked, 
rather  unnecessarily,  I  thought,  as  he 
offered  his  arm. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  devoting  all  my  ener- 
gies toward  accommodating  my  steps  to 
his  long  ones.  "  I  see  you  are." 

"I  knew  enough,"  he  added,  "to  write 
my  whole  name  down  on  your  card  in 
order  to  insure  your  remembrance.  I 
didn't  care  to  have  you  favour  me  with 
one  of  those  innocent  little  stares,  and 
ask  like  the  shop-keepers,  'What  name, 


Uncle  John's  Success 


please  ?'  You  observed  that,  I  sup- 
pose?" 

"  Oh,  did  you  write  your  whole  name  ?" 
I  answered.  "  That  was  such  a  splendid 
idea!  I  hadn't  noticed  it,"  and  pulling 
out  my  programme  I  hunted  with  as  much 
show  of  interest  as  I  could  possibly  mus- 
ter, until  I  found  the  name,  sure  enough, 
"  J.  J.  Dennington,"  written  in  a  bold, 
heavy  hand.  It  will  please  him,  I  re- 
flected, to  see  that  I  go  to  all  this  trouble, 
so  I  looked  up  triumphantly  when  I  had 
found  it. 

He  did  not  seem  as  much  charmed,  how- 
ever, by  my  manifestations  of  interest  as 
I  had  anticipated.  In  fact  he  scarcely 
noticed  it,  but  was  looking  straight  ahead 
of  him,  and  biting  his  white  moustache. 

"It  isn't  possible  that  he's  vexed!"  I 
mused,  and  it  turned  out  that  he  wasn't, 
for  in  a  moment  he  said,  pleasantly, 

"  If  you  are  quite  ready,  shall  we  begin 
our  dance?" 

I  slipped  my  fingers  at  once  from  his 
arm,  and  off  we  glided  into  the  dreamiest 
of  waltzes. 

23 


Ashes  of  Roses 


It  seemed  to  me  that  time  had  stopped, 
and  that  I  could  have  danced  on  and  on 
for  ever,  floating  on  the  wings  of  the  music 
straight  into  heaven  itself.  But  it  came  to 
an  end  at  length,  as  all  things  must,  and 
I  was  called  down  to  earth  again  by  the 
final  clashing  chords  of  the  musicians. 

"  Oh,  how  glorious!"  I  cried,  every  pulse 
beating  with  happiness  and  excitement. 
"Wasn't  it  just  fine?" 

"  It  was  indeed !"  he  answered,  warmly, 
looking  down  into  my  beaming  face,  so 
full  of  innocent  delight.  But  he  said 
nothing  more.  He  merely  offered  his  arm 
in  the  old  quiet  way,  and  we  strolled  out 
into  the  hall. 

"Would  you  dare  step  out  on  the  piaz- 
za?" he  asked,  presently.  "I  see  sev- 
eral ladies  there  already,  and  if  I  get  you 
a  wrap  I  think  there  will  be  no  danger  of 
cold." 

"  If  you  think  it  quite  safe  ? — we  are  so 
warm." 

"  The  evening  has  grown  a  bit  cool,  but 
I  think  we  can  safely  venture  if  you  are 
well  wrapped  up.  I  will  get  you  a  shawl 

24 


Uncle  John's  Success 


in  just  an  instant,  if  you  will  excuse  me," 
and  no  sooner  said  than  done, — he  had 
slipped  upstairs  and  returned  with  a  soft 
fleecy  shawl  which  he  said  Mrs.  Mitchell 
had  given  him. 

Without  more  ado  we  stepped  from  the 
noisy  brilliant  hall,  with  its  busy  hum  of 
voices,  into  the  cool  stillness  of  a  July 
evening. 

As  he  had  told  me,  there  were  three  or 
four  persons  already  on  the  piazza,  enjoy- 
ing the  moonlight,  but  we  managed  to  find 
two  chairs  in  a  quiet  corner,  and  seating 
me  in  one,  he  wrapped  the  shawl  carefully 
over  my  shoulders. 

"  Are  you  quite  warm  ?"  he  asked. 
"  Perfectly  warm  ?" 

"Perfectly,  completely,  terrifically!"  I 
answered,  laughing.  "  In  other  words,  I 
am  slowly  cooking!  You  will  begin  to 
hear  me  sizzle  in  a  minute." 

"I  have  heard  of  candied  rose-leaves," 
he  replied,  brushing  aside  a  wisp  of  my 
thin  pink  dress  that  had  somehow  floated 
over  the  other  chair,  and  seating  himself 
beside  me,  "  but  I  never  knew  before  that 

25 


Ashes  of  Roses 


this  was  the  process  to  which  the  rose  was 
subjected." 

"  It  is  a  cruel  one,"  I  returned,  heaving 
a  deep  sigh,  "  but  think  what  a  proud  day 
it  will  be  for  me  when  I  am  all  baked, 
and  spread  out  on  a  tin  pan  and  sold  for 
a  dollar  and  twenty  cents  a  pound!" 

"  And  I  shall  be  on  the  spot  to  buy  you, 
too,  down  to  the  very  last  petal!  Don't 
forget  that.  One  dollar  and  twenty  cents 
a  pound,  and  one  hundred  and  twelve 
pounds,  wasn't  it  ?  That  would  be,  let  me 
see " 

"  Oh,  don't  sit  here  and  do  sums  on 
such  a  night  as  this!"  I  exclaimed,  trag- 
ically. "  How  can  you  look  at  that  lovely 
big  glorious  moon,  and  think  of  anything 
so  prosy  as  arithmetic!" 

"But  I  don't  like  the  moon,  and  I  do 
like  arithmetic,"  he  argued.  "What 
then?" 

"Not  like  the  moon!"  I  echoed,  staring 
at  him  in  unconcealed  dismay,  "  not  like 
the  dear,  beautiful  moon!  And  why  not, 
pray  ?" 

"She  doesn't  seem  dear  and  beautiful 
26 


Uncle  John's  Success 


to  me  at  all.  She  is  cold  and  far-away, 
and  looks  down  all  night  with  her  big, 
round  eye,  never  winking  or  blinking  a 
bit,  no  matter  what  trouble  or  sorrow  she 
sees  upon  this  poor  earth  of  ours." 

He  raised  his  hand  with  a  sudden  ges- 
ture, and  tossed  back  the  heavy  white  hair 
from  his  forehead.  As  he  did  so,  I  caught 
the  quick  sparkle  of  a  diamond  upon  his 
finger,  a  lady's  ring,  evidently.  I  also 
noticed  that  he  had  moved  his  chair  until 
he  sat  quite  in  the  shadow  with  his  elbow 
on  the  piazza  rail  and  his  head  on  his  hand. 

I  did  not  know  just  how  to  answer  him, 
so  I  sat  quite  still,  looking  at  the  big  dark 
figure  sharply  outlined  against  the  moon- 
lit sky.  The  night-wind  had  arisen  and 
murmured  drowsily  in  my  ears,  and  the 
occasional  chirp  of  a  cricket  sounded 
shrilly  in  the  distance. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  the  moon  in  the 
South  ?"  he  asked  suddenly,  raising  his 
head. 

"No,  sir,"  said  I.  "  I— I  believe  not. 
Did  you?" 

"  I  never  saw  it  anywhere  else  for  the 
27 


Ashes  of  Roses 


first  twenty  years  of  my  life.  Oh,  this 
God-forsaken  country !"  he  added  bitterly. 
"  What  do  you  cold  Northerners  know  of 
beauty,  when  you  have  never  seen  a  mid- 
night in  the  south,  with  the  moon  turning 
everything  as  white  as  day,  and  the  mag- 
nolia-blossoms making  you  half  drowsy 
with  perfume!  You  don't  understand  me, 
do  you  ?"  for  I  was  still  looking  at  him 
with  wide-open,  wondering  eyes.  "  You 
think  I  am  some  poetical  old  fool  who  has 
grow  moonstruck,  eh  ?  Well,  perhaps  I 
am,  perhaps  I  am.  You  will  forgive  me 
this  once,  won't  you?" 

His  mood  seemed  to  change;  he  raised 
his  head,  and  I  could  see  that  he  was 
smiling. 

"You  must  bear  with  an  old  man,"  he 
said.  "  My  ideas  are  like  myself,  possi- 
bly; of  a  past  generation." 

"Well,  I  don't  care  if  you  are  of  a  past 
generation,"  I  cried,  stoutly.  "On  some 
accounts,  of  course,  it  must  be  unpleasant 
to  be  old,  but  I  like  you  just  exactly  as 
well  as  if  you  were  younger.  Honestly  I 
do!" 

28 


Uncle  John's  Success 


Possibly  my  reader  may  have  observed 
that  in  those  days  I  had  a  remarkable  ten- 
dency, since  overcome,  somewhat,  to  say 
just  exactly  what  I  thought  on  all  occa- 
sions! 

"Good!  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it!" 
He  leaned  forward,  and  I  could  see  his 
dark  eyes  shining  in  the  moonlight.  "  So 
you  have  made  up  your  mind  that  you  are 
going  to  like  me?" 

"Oh  yes,"  said  I,  leaning  back  in  my 
own  chair  contentedly.  "It  didn't  take 
me  long  to  find  that  out,  you  know!" 

"  How  long,  may  I  ask  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  have  always  liked  you,  I  be- 
lieve. That  is  how  I  happened  to  get  up 
courage  to  ask  you  to  dance.  I  liked  the 
back  of  your  head  in  the  first  place,  it  had 
such  a — such  a  benevolent  kind  of  look — 
you  understand?" 

"Oh,  perfectly!" 

"  And  then  by-and-by  when  you  turned 
your  head  around,  I  liked  your  face, 
too." 

"Excellent!     Proceed." 

"  And  then  I  like  the  way  you  dance, 

29 


Ashes  of  Roses 


so  you  needn't  feel  badly  at  all  about  be- 
ing— well,  sort  of  elderly,  for  you  are  ever 
so  much  nicer  than  if  you  were  just  a 
young  man,  like  everybody  else.  I  can't 
talk  to  them,"  I  added,  with  a  compre- 
hensive, airy  gesture  which  might  be  un- 
derstood to  include  humanity  in  general, 
"as  I  can  to  you,  of  course." 

"Possibly  not,"  said  Mr.  Dennington, 
gravely  stroking  his  moustache,  "  and  per- 
haps, on  the  whole,  it  is  a  fortunate  thing. 
I  wouldn't  give  much  for  a  young  man's 
peace  of  mind  were  he  in  my  position. 
But  I  am  very  sorry  for  them  all,  poor 
young  fellows!  They  will  never  know 
how  much  they  are  missing."  . 

I  glanced  at  him  furtively  from  under 
my  eyelashes,  wondering  if  he  were  mak- 
ing fun  of  me.  But  no,  his  face  was  quite 
serious. 

"  So  you  think  you  are  going  to  like 
me?"  he  continued,  presently.  "I  am 
sure  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it,  and  very 
much  obliged  to  you  for  being  so  kind. 
As  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  I 
like  you,  too,  suppose  we  make  an  agree- 
so 


Uncle  John's  Success 


ment  to  become  friends  without  further 
delay  ?" 

"I'm  sure  I  have  no  objection,"  I  re- 
turned, tranquilly,  "only  it  seems  to  me 
people  usually  know  each  other  pretty 
well  before  they  become  friends,  and — 
well,  we  haven't  been  acquainted  so  very 
long,  now  have  we?" 

It  was  a  most  honest  appeal,  and  he 
could  not  gainsay  it. 

"Well,  no — no,  I  suppose  not,"  he  ad- 
mitted, "  not  so  far  as  minutes  and  seconds 
go,  certainly.  But  I  think  we  have  made 
the  most  of  all  the  time  we've  had,  and 
done  as  much  as  could  reasonably  be  ex- 
pected, don't  you?" 

I  nodded  affably. 

"  And  that  is  an  objection  which  each 
day  will  remedy,  you  know,"  he  con- 
tinued. "  So  it  ought  not  to.  stand  in  our 
way  in  the  least." 

"  No,  I  dare  say  not." 

"  Because  all  friends  have  to  begin  to 
be  friends  some  time,"  he  added,  lu- 
cidly. 

"Yes,"  I  said. 

31 


Ashes  of  Roses 


Now  all  this  was  very  agreeable,  cer- 
tainly! 

"Do  you  know,"  he  went  on,  "we 
have  talked  together  all  this  time  and 
you  haven't  even  told  me  where  your 
home  was  before  you  came  to  our  prairie 
town.  You  are  a  stranger  here,  I  am 
sure  ?" 

"Oh,  yes.  I  have  been  here  just  a 
week  to-day,  and  am  visiting  my  aunt, 
Mrs.  Arnold.  You  know  her,  of  course  ?" 

"Not  very  well,  I'll  admit.  Not  so 
well  as  I  hope  to,  perhaps." 

"  Oh,  you  must  know  her!"  I  exclaimed, 
enthusiastically.  "  She  is  just  the  dear- 
est, loveliest  Auntie  that  ever  was!  She 
is  my  papa's  favourite  sister,  you  see,  and 
when  I  happened  to  write  her  last  winter 
that  I  was  to  finish  school  in  June,  she 
and  Uncle  sent  me  an  invitation  to  come 
out  west  and  spend  the  whole  summer. 
Wasn't  it  sweet  of  them  ?" 

"  They  certainly,  deserve  our  deepest 
gratitude." 

"And  so — I  came,"  I  chattered  on, 
"  and  here  I  am,  with  the  prospect  of  a 

32 


Uncle  John's  Success 


whole  beautiful  summer  before  me,  and 
nothing  to  do  but  amuse  myself." 

"Which  you  enjoy,  of  course?" 

"Yes,  indeed  I  do,  particularly  as  I 
studied  so  hard  last  winter,  and  worked 
day  and  night,  almost." 

"  I  should  think  you  must  have  done  so, 
to  finish  school  so  young.  You  can't  be 
more  than  a  child  still." 

"Oh,  it  wasn't  that.  I  would  have 
completed  the  ordinary  school  course  a 
year  ago,  but  I  was  working  on  special 
branches,  which  I  hope  to  study  still 
deeper  this  winter.  I — I'm  going  abroad 
at  Christmas,"  I  added,  somewhat  shyly. 

"And  how  delightful  that  will  be!" 

"Yes.     Have  you  ever  been ?" 

He  hesitated  an  instant. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "I — I  have  spent 
several  years  abroad.  But  come,  tell  me 
how  you  like  Prairie  City,  as  far  as  you've 
seen  it." 

It  was  rather  an  abrupt  change  of  sub- 
ject, but  of  course  it  mattered  little  to  me 
what  topic  we  discussed,  so  I  replied  very 
readily : 

33 


Ashes  of  Roses 


"  As  far  as  I've  seen  I  like  it  extremely, 
but  I  haven't  seen  very  far  yet.  Auntie 
has  been  half  sick  ever  since  I  came,  so 
we've  not  been  around  very  much.  But 
Uncle  has  a  nice  pony  for  me,  and  we 
are  going  to  take  great  long  rides  every 
day,  when  Auntie  gets  better.  Won't 
that  be  splendid  ?" 

"I  should  think  so!  And  may  your 
friends  sit  on  the  fence  and  see  you  go 
by?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  No  use — for  I  shall  fly  by  so  fast,  they 
won't  see  anything  but  a  cloud  of  dust! 
My  horse  is  a  beauty  and  goes  like  the 
wind.  And  this  is  such  a  glorious  coun- 
try to  ride  in,  so  big  and  wild  and  free. 
It's  so  different  from  home." 

"Yes?" 

"In  Portland,  you  kow. " 

"  Oh,"  said  Mr.  Dennington.  "  I  didn't 
know,  though  I  could  have  sworn  you  were 
a  New  England  girl." 

"Why?     By  my  Yankee  twang?" 

"  No,  indeed,"  he  laughed.  "  By  some- 
thing far  more  tangible — your  name.  You 

34 


Uncle  John's  Success 


know  we  southern  people  think  a  good 
deal  of  such  things,  and  I  know  that  you 
have  one  to  be  proud  of." 

"  Now,  how  in  the  world  did  you  know 
that?"  I  demanded,  leaning  forward, 
eagerly.  "  Have  you  heard  about  us  'way 
out  here?" 

Mr.  Dennington  smiled  rather  quizzi- 
cally. 

"  I  fancy  that  almost  every  one  has 
heard  of  Jonathan  Edwards,"  he  said. 
"  You  are  related  to  him,  no  doubt  ?" 

"  Oh  yes.  But  you  couldn't  call  him  a 
near  relative  exactly.  It  was  ever  so  far 
back,  of  course.  " 

"  Of  course,"  he  said,  smiling  a  little. 
"  I  had  an  idea  that  it  must  have  been  a 
good  while  before  your  time,  little  lady!" 

"And  my  grandmother,"  I  went  on. 
"  We  are  about  as  proud  of  her,  as  we 
are  of  Jonathan  Edwards;  for  they  say 
she  was  a  great  beauty, — and  my  great- 
grandmamma,  too." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Dennington.  "One 
does  not  need  to  be  told  that." 

"  Well,  now  why  ?"  I  asked,  curiously, 

35 


Ashes  of  Roses 


regarding  him  with  open-eyed  wonder. 
"  You  never  knew  her,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  No-o,"  he  admitted,  leaning  his  head 
upon  his  hand  again,  until  his  face  was 
quite  in  shadow,  "  I  can't  say  that  I  ever 
had  the  pleasure  of  your  great-grand- 
mother's acquaintance." 

"Of  course,"  I  hastened  to  add,  "I 
mean  when  you  were  a  little  boy.  You 
might  have  been  just  a  little  bit  of  a  boy, 
you  know,  when  she  was  an  old,  old  lady, 
and  still  have  remembered  her.  Such 
things  happen  very  often,  don't  they?" 

"Oh,  frequently!"  returned  Mr.  Den- 
nington,  gravely.  "  I  suppose  this  must 
be  one  of  the  grand  exceptions  to  the 
general  rule." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so.  Well,  anyway,  I 
have  her  picture,  a  lovely  picture  of  her 
at  home,  that  is  at  home  here  you  know, 
painted  on  ivory.  Some  time  I  will  show 
it  to  you,  if  you  like." 

"  Thank  you.  I  shall  be  delighted  to 
avail  myself " 

"  Our  dance,  I  believe,  Miss  Edwards  ?" 
said  a  cold  voice  in  my  ear,  and  looking 

36 


Uncle  John's  Success 


quickly  around  I  saw  my  bete  noir,  the 
auburn-tressed  young  man  bending  over 
my  chair. 

I  saw  by  his  face  that  something  had 
gone  wrong,  and  rose  at  once. 

"  Has  our  dance  begun  ?"  I  said. 

"It  is  almost  over,"  he  snapped.  "I 
have  been  hunting  the  house  for  you." 

"I'm  sorry,"  I  said,  gently.  "I  didn't 
know  it,  or  I  would  have  come  in,"  and 
handing  my  shawl  to  Mr.  Dennington,  who 
had  also  risen,  I  suffered  myself  to  be  led 
away,  my  partner  not  venturing  a  single 
remark,  but  indulging  in  a  most  unami- 
able  fit  of  the  sulks  during  the  remainder 
of  the  dance. 

There  is  but  little  more  to  tell  of  this, 
my  first  party.  It  is  needless  to  state, 
perhaps,  that  I  enjoyed  myself  to  the  very 
fullest  extent,  and  had  I  been  permitted 
my  own  way,  would  have  stayed  on,  danc- 
ing, laughing,  fluttering  my  small  fan, 
and  sipping  frappe  in  the  dark  corner  un- 
der the  stairs,  till  the  last  weary  musician 
had  picked  up  his  instrument  and  stolen 
silently  away.  Happily,  however,  Aunt 

37 


Ashes  of  Roses 


Kate  had  not  abandoned  herself  to  pleas- 
ure, pure  and  simple,  as  recklessly  as  had 
her  feather-headed  little  niece,  and  at  a 
respectably  early  hour  I  was  torn  away, 
and  quietly  landed  in  my  own  room,  be- 
fore I  had  fairly  awakened  from  the  intox- 
icating dream  of  the  wonderful  "party," 
now,  alas!  a  thing  of  the  past. 

"  But  there  will  be  another,  some  day 
or  other,  you  know,"  laughed  Auntie,  as 
she  kissed  me  good-night,  "  so  I  think  I 
wouldn't  sit  staring  at  the  carpet  much 
longer,  dearie,  but  just  be  a  good  girl  and 
get  into  bed  as  fast  as  you  can,  for  it's 
nearly  one  o'clock." 

"  Yes'm,"  I  replied,  dutifully,  and  then, 
"Oh,  you  precious  dear!"  running  at  her 
and  treating  her  to  one  of  my  good,  old- 
fashioned  "  bear-hugs. "  "  I  did  have  such 
a  good  time,  I  can't  stop  thinking  about 
it.  You  are  just  the  darlingest  Auntie  in 
the  world  to  let  me  go!" 

"  Bless  the  child,  she  is  her  mother  over 
again!"  she  said,  letting  her  hand  rest  on 
my  hair  with  tender  touch.  "  I  am  glad 
you  enjoyed  yourself,  dear,  but  we  will 

38 


Uncle  John's  Success 


talk  about  all  that  to-morrow.  Your  eyes 
are  as  big  as  saucers  now,  and  you  won't 
get  them  shut  all  night,  if  you  don't  quiet 
down  a  little.  So  good-night,  and  you'll 
go  right  to  bed,  won't  you?" 

Half  an  hour  later,  I  was  cosily  tucked 
away  in  my  little  white  nest,  deep  in 
the  dreamless  sleep  of  childhood.  How 
could  I  know  that  only  a  few  blocks  away, 
in  the  pitiless  glare  of  the  moonlight,  a 
man  knelt  at  his  open  window  all  the 
night  through,  with  his  poor  white  head 
resting  heavily  upon  his  hands! 

39 


II 

A    MORNING    OF    RETROSPECTION 

AT  seven  precisely  the  next  morning 
the  sun  came  smiling  in  at  my  win- 
dow lighting  up  every  nook  and  corner  of 
the  room  with  his  genial  presence.  At  the 
same  moment  my  blue  eyes  flew  open  as 
wide  as  Nature  ever  intended  them  to  be, 
and  jumping  up,  I  ran  to  the  window  in 
my  little  trailing  nightdress,  and  took 
a  sly  peep  through  the  half-parted  cur- 
tains. 

I  saw  a  fresh,  smiling  world  flooded 
with  that  wonderful  limpid  sunshine,  of 
which  eastern  people  cannot  conceive,  and 
which  western  people  indifferently  accept 
with  the  other  natural  advantages  of  the 
country.  But  I  had  not  been  there  long 
enough  at  that  time  to  become  indifferent, 
too,  and  it  was  still  a  mystery  and  wonder 
to  me,  as  each  morning  I  ran  to  the  win- 

40 


A  Morning  of  Retrospection 


dow  with  eastern  anxiety,  "  to  see  what 
kind  of  a  day  it  was,"  and  found  each 
morning  the  world  bathed  anew  in  the 
molten  gold  of  that  perpetual  sunshine. 

How  sweet  it  was!  I  drew  in  long  de- 
licious breaths  of  the  fresh  summer  air,  and 
felt  the  intoxication  of  it  rushing  through 
every  vein.  For  I  was  young,  then,  and 
still  throbbing  with  the  exhilaration  of 
perfect  health  and  boundless  vitality. 
Can  you  not  remember  that  golden  time 
in  your  own  experience,  when  life  seemed 
but  an  endless  melody,  with  which  all 
nature  was  in  tune — the  echo  of  the 
"  grand,  sweet  song"  ? 

Oh,  to  go  back  to  that  springtime  once 
again!  To  forget  the  sad  awakenings 
and  realisations  that  the  weary  years  have 
laid  upon  drooping  shoulders,  and  to 
stand,  as  I  stood  at  the  window  on  that 
summer  morning,  long  ago,  with  a  heart  as 
innocent  and  untroubled  as  that  of  the 
tiny  sparrow  who  was  chirping  his  own 
joy  in  the  garden  below! 

"  How  good  is  our  dear  Father  in 
heaven,"  I  remember  thinking  gratefully, 

41 


Ashes  of  Roses 


"  to  put  his  children  into  such  a  glad, 
bright,  beautiful  world!" 

And  then  I  looked  out  again,  far  away 
across  the  shining  earth  into  that  vast- 
ness  of  unfathomable  blue,  beyond,  and 
it  seemed  as  if  I  grew  nearer  and  nearer 
to  the  heart  of  the  Eternal,  and  that  He 
was  looking  down  into  my  eyes,  and 
smiling. 

"Father,  I  thank  Thee,"  I  whispered 
softly,  as  to  someone  very  near.  And 
then  a  great  peace  fell  upon  my  heart, 
and  I  knew  that  God  was  there,  close, 
close,  beside  me! 

At  eight  o'clock  I  went  running  down- 
stairs into  the  breakfast-room,  trilling  the 
gayest  of  songs. 

It  was  one  of  the  most  pleasant  rooms 
in  the  house,  with  the  sun  streaming  in 
across  the  ferns  and  delicate  vines  that 
ornamented  the  two  broad  window-seats, 
gleaming  on  the  snowy  tablecloth  and 
turning  the  cut  glass  into  a  thousand  rain- 
bows and  the  breakfast  service  into  molten 
silver.  The  furniture  and  woodwork 

42 


A  Morning  of  Retrospection 


were  of  oak,  in  contrast  to  which,  and 
each  setting  off  the  other,  rich  Buchara 
rugs  glowed  ruby-red  on  the  polished 
floor. 

My  uncle  was  quietly  ensconced  in  a 
big  arm-chair,  enjoying  the  luxury  of  a 
sunbath  combined  with  the  morning  pa- 
per. I  stopped  in  the  doorway,  hesitat- 
ing, but  I  did  not  stay  there  long.  He 
threw  down  his  paper,  and  held  out  his 
dear  old  arms,  into  which  I  crept  in  an 
instant. 

"  Here's  my  little  girl  at  last,"  he  said, 
tenderly,  stroking  my  cheek,  "  as  fresh 
and  sweet  as  a  June  rose!  Do  you  know, 
dear,  that  you  grow  more  like  your 
mother  every  day  ?" 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad,"  I  cried,  the  quick 
tears  springing  to  my  eyes.  "  It  is  so 
lovely  of  you  to  say  that  I  look  like  mam- 
ma, and  you  don't  know  how  happy  it 
makes  me  feel.  But — but  she  was  so 
beautiful,  you  know — I  never  could  be  as 
pretty  as  my  mamma,  could  I  ?" 

"No,"  said  Uncle  John,  gently.  "No 
one  could  ever  be  that,  dear.  When  she 

43 


Ashes  of  Roses 


was  your  age  I  used  to  think  that  she  was 
the  loveliest  little  creature  that  God  ever 
made — and  I  don't  believe  I  was  far  from 
right." 

"Of  course  not.  But  did  you  really 
know  her  when  she  was  a  little  girl,  like 
me?" 

"  Bless  you,  yes!  And  was  head  over 
heels  in  love  with  her,  too." 

"How  funny!  I  never  supposed  you 
knew  her  at  all  till  after  you  married 
Auntie." 

"Oh,  yes.  We  all  grew  up  together  in 
New  York.  I  was  somewhat  older  than 
the  rest,  but  Aunt  Kate  and  your  mamma 
were  just  of  an  age,  and  inseparable,  al- 
ways. And  I  was  always  tagging  after 
them,  hardly  knowing  myself  which  one  I 
cared  for  the  more." 

"And  mamma  wouldn't  love  you?  How 
queer!" 

"Was  rather  odd,  wasn't  it?  But  you 
should  have  seen  the  one  she  did  love  in 
those  days,  Ruth!" 

"  My  papa?" 

"  Yes,     When  Aunt  Kate's   handsome 

44 


A  Morning  of  Retrospection 


big  brother  came  home  from  college,  that 
was  the  end  of  me,  and  everyone  else. 
She  never  seemed  to  care  for  anyone  ex- 
cept him,  and  no  one  was  at  all  surprised 
when  they  were  finally  married." 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad!"  I  cried.  "I  know 
he  was  ten  hundred  times  nicer  than  any 
of  the  others!  And  so  handsome,  too. 
Mamma  has  often  told  me " 

But  our  confidences  were  put  an  end  to 
just  then  by  the  entrance  of  Aunt  Kate. 
Breakfast  being  served  almost  imme- 
diately, Uncle  and  I  slipped  into  our  re- 
spective places,  and  in  a  very  few  minutes 
had  buried  all  reminiscences  completely 
in  our  foamy  bowls  of  oatmeal. 

"  How  do  you  feel  after  the  party, 
Ruth  ?"  inquired  my  Aunt,  as  she  lan- 
guidly poured  the  coffee.  "  I  must  say 
you  don't  look  very  much  used  up." 

She  herself  was  clad  in  the  most  im- 
maculate of  black  and  white  morning 
gowns,  but  was  looking  unusually  pale 
and  tired,  I  thought. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  a  bit  used  up,"  I  replied, 
almost  smiling  at  the  bare  idea, — one  feels 

45 


Ashes  of  Roses 


so  strong  at  seventeen ! — "  I  only  wish  I 
could  go  to  another  one  to-night,  that's 
all!" 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  enjoyed  yourself 
so  much,"  she  returned,  kindly.  "That 
quite  repays  me  for  any  sacrifice  I  might 
have  made  in  going." 

"At  any  rate,  your  sacrifice  was  re- 
warded in  some  measure,"  put  in  her  hus- 
band, winking  slyly  at  me.  "  I  noticed 
that  our  high-toned  friend  the  Colonel 
took  special  pains  to  make  himself  agree- 
able to  you." 

"Yes,"  replied  Aunt  Kate,  calmly  sip- 
ping her  coffee,  "  he  certainly  did.  And 
I  must  say,  my  dear,  that  he  can  be  a 
very  fascinating  man  when  he  chooses. 
Did  I  tell  you  that  he  asked  permission  to 
call  ?" 

"  I  believe  not." 

"  I  was  greatly  surprised,  and  flattered 
too,  I  must  confess,  for  it  isn't  every 
house  that  the  Colonel  honours  with  his 
visits.  I  could  mention  a  number  of  well- 
known  ladies  who  have  invited  him  over 
and  over  again  to  call,  and  still  he  has 

46 


A  Morning  of  Retrospection 


not  thought  best  to  accept  any  of  their 
advances.  This  I  know,  John.  And 
then  to  think  that  he  should  single  me  out, 
and  beg  permission  to  call!  Those  were 
his  very  words,  'beg  permission!'  ' 

"Which  you  granted,  of  course?" 

"  Of  course.  I  told  him  I  should  be 
delighted  to  see  him  at  any  time.  'Come 
at  any  time,  Colonel,'  I  said,  and  the 
poor  fellow  seemed  so  pleased!  I  sup- 
pose he  does  get  lonesome,  sometimes." 

"But  I  thought  you  never  liked  him 
very  well,"  persisted  Uncle  John.  "I  re- 
member hearing  you  say  more  than  once 
that  he  was  the  most  thoroughly  conceited 
man  you  ever  saw." 

"Well,  but  John!  Can't  you  compre- 
hend the  difference  ?  That  was  long  ago, 
before  I  ever  knew  him.  I  will  admit 
that  he  does  give  strangers  the  impression 
of  being  horribly  vain,  with  that  high- 
and-mighty  air  of  his,  and  the  way  he  car- 
ries his  head.  But  with  his  friends  he  is 
not  so  at  all.  Really,  a  more  cultivated, 
polished  gentleman  I  never  met,  even  in 
the  East." 


Ashes  of  Roses 


"  Even  in  the  East !"  What  an  admission 
from  those  effete  lips!  Surely,  I  thought, 
this  colonel,  whoever  he  is,  must  have 
made  good  use  of  his  time. 

"Well!"  said  Uncle  John.  "It  beats 
me  to  see  the  way  you  women  have  of 
changing  your  mind  sometimes!  Now 
for  my  part,  I  always  liked  the  fellow 
well  enough.  He  has  a  good,  manly  air 
about  him,  and  you  know  as  well  as  I 
that  I  put  in  a  vote  for  him  last  election. 
But,  confound  it!  I  do  hate  that  white 
hair  of  his,  and  I'll  admit  it!  It  looks  so 
ridiculous,  somehow." 

"White  hair,  Uncle?"  I  piped  up  at  this 
juncture.  I  hadn't  been  paying  much  at- 
tention to  the  conversation  before,  but 
those  words  caught  my  attention.  "  Why 
my  man  had  white  hair,  too!" 

"Your  man,  Ruth?"  echoed  Uncle 
John.  "  And  who  is  your  man,  my  dear, 
if  I  might  presume  to  ask  ?" 

"Mr.  Dennington,"  I  returned,  prompt- 
ly. "'J.  J.  Dennington.'  That's  the 
way  he  wrote  it  on  my  card.  His  hair 
was  white,  too,  as  white  as  anything." 

48 


A  Morning  of  Retrospection 


"One  and  the  same,"  said  Uncle, 
placidly,  buttering  a  roll.  "  The  Colonel 
and  Mr.  Dennington  are  identical,  my 
love." 

"Why  how  funny!"  I  exclaimed.  "I 
talked  with  him  ever  so  long  last  night, 
and  he  never  told  me  he  was  a  Colonel, 
or  had  been  voted  for,  or  anything." 

"You  don't  say  so!" 

"  What  was  he  Colonel  of  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  some  southern  regiment.  I  don't 
know,"  replied  Uncle.  "He  is  a  Rebel, 
every  inch  of  him." 

"  You  say  you  talked  with  him  last  even- 
ing, Ruth?"  said  Aunt  Kate.  "I  didn't 
know  you  had  ever  met  him.  Did  you 
have  a  long  talk,  my  dear?" 

"Oh  yes,  ever  so  long!  He  asked  me 
where  my  home  was,  and  if  I  had  ever 
seen  the  moon  before,  or  something  like 
that — and,  oh  yes!  he  said  he  had  heard 
of  Jonathan  Edwards,  too. — Wasn't  it 
nice  of  him! — and,  well,  you  see  that's 
how  I  came  to  ask  him  if  he  had  ever 
known  my  great-grandmother." 

"Ruth!"  and  Aunt  Kate  set  down  her 

49 


Ashes  of  Roses 


coffee  cup  in  blank  dismay.  "  You  surely 
didn't  ask  him  that?" 

"Why  yes  I  did,"  I  insisted.  "  I  told 
him  she  was  a  great  beauty  once,  and  he 
said  yes,  he  knew  she  must  have  been, 
and  of  course  that  made  me  wonder  how 
he  could  possibly  know,  also  I  asked  him 
if  he  had  ever  seen  her.  I'm  sure  it  was 
only  a  natural  question." 

"  Oh,  quite  natural !"  murmured  Uncle 
John,  getting  somewhat  red  in  the  face, 
"and,  great  heavens!  how  flattered  the 
Colonel  must  have  been!" 

"I'm  sure  it  was  very  kind  of  him  to 
appear  interested  in  Ruth  at  all,"  re- 
marked Aunt  Kate,  rather  severely.  "  I 
trust,  child,  you  didn't  keep  him  talking 
so  long  as  to  tire  him  ?" 

'' No-o, "  after  a  moment's  reflection. 
"  I — I  guess  not,  Auntie.  He  didn't  seem 
tired." 

"  Colonel  Dennington  is  far  too  well- 
bred  to  show  it,  my  love,  even  if  he  felt 
so.  I  only  hope  you  did  not  offend  him 
with  any  of  your  queer  remarks.  I  don't 
want  to  hurt  your  feelings,  but  I  must  say 

50 


A  Morning  of  Retrospection 


that  you  certainly  do  make  the  most  pecu- 
liar speeches,  sometimes!  You  know 
men,  and  particularly  southern  men  are 
very  critical  in  such  matters." 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  No,  Auntie,  I  didn't  say  a  thing  out  of 
the  way,  I  know  I  didn't.  And  is  he  really 
a  southern  man  ?" 

"  I  should  say  he  is!"  put  in  Uncle  John. 
"  Is  it  possible  he  didn't  tell  you  so?  Is 
it  possible  he  talked  with  you  as  much  as 
five  whole  minutes,  and  didn't " 

"My  dear!"  expostulated  Aunt  Kate. 
"  Do  be  quiet.  Why  shouldn't  the  man 
be  proud  of  his  ancestors,  if  he  wants  to  ? 
I  am  sure  it  is  quite  a  relief  to  meet  some 
one,  in  this  dreadful  country,  who  has  any 
ancestors,  anyway!  He  is  from  one  of 
the  oldest  families  in  the  South,  Ruth, 
great  land-holders  and  slave-owners  before 
the  war." 

"  I  wonder  how  in  the  world  he  hap- 
pened to  drift  'way  out  here,"  I  remarked, 
as  my  thoughts  flew  back  to  a  certain  dim, 
piazza  corner,  and  I  remembered  the  bit- 
ter ring  in  his  voice  when  he  had  chanced 


Ashes  of  Roses 


to  speak  to  me  about  "  this  God-forsaken 
country." 

"Ah,  that  is  what  nobody  knows,"  re- 
plied Aunt  Kate.  "  There  is  some  terrible 
mystery  connected  with  him,  we  are  all 
quite  sure  of  that,  but  just  what  it  is  no  one 
can  find  out.  All  we  know  is  that  he  sud- 
denly appeared  here  one  morning  about 
ten  years  ago,  took  a  suite  of  rooms  at 
the  hotel,  and  announced  that  he  had 
come  to  stay.  And  there  he  lives  still,  all 
alone  except  for  his  dogs  and  his  body- 
servant,  a  big  negro " 

"Blacker  than  the  ace  of  spades!" 
chimed  in  Uncle  John. 

"  Of  course.  How  else  would  you  have 
him?" 

"  Oh,  I  wouldn't  have  him  at  all,  thank 
you,"  promptly  returned  her  better  half. 
"  Not  as  a  most  gracious  gift!" 

"Well,  my  dear,"  Auntie  went  on,  ig- 
noring the  unholy  chuckle  that  followed 
the  last  words,  and  directing  her  con- 
versation exclusively  to  me,  "  you  may 
not  be  surprised  to  hear  that  about  such  a 
man  all  sorts  of  rumours  are  afloat.  Not 

52 


A  Morning  of  Retrospection 


so  many  now,  of  course,  as  there  were  at 
first,  for  people  have  grown  tired  of  talk- 
ing, you  know,  with  really  nothing  to 
talk  about.  He  lives  very  quietly,  never 
gives  anyone  the  least  occasion  to  gossip, 
but  always  conducts  himself  as  a  perfect 
gentleman  should.  His  worst  enemy  can- 
not deny  that." 

"Has  he  any  enemies?"  I  cried — Oh, 
the  innocence  of  childhood!  "  How  per- 
fectly dreadful,  Aunt  Kate!" 

"Why  of  course,  my  dear.  It  would 
be  hardly  possible  fora  man  of  his  promi- 
nence, socially  and  politically,  not  to  have 
some  enemies.  He  is  bound  to  have 
them." 

"  I — I  suppose  so.  But  he  has  friends, 
too,  I  hope?" 

"  There  is  not  a  man  in  Prairie  City  who 
has  more  friends,  or  warmer  ones.  He  is 
generous  to  a  fault,  liberal  and  public- 
spirited  in  every  way,  and  his  fortune  is 
immense,  my  dear,  simply  immense.  But, 
as  I  told  you,  there  have  been  queer 
stories  about  him.  For  instance,  that 
hair  of  his,  to  which  your  uncle  objects  so 

53 


Ashes  of  Roses 


seriously — they  say  that  it  turned  white  in 
a  single  night." 

"  I  wonder  why?" 

"Oh,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know, — some 
terrible  suspense  or  excitement  that  he 
went  through  with,  I  suppose.  They 
say " 

"They  say,  they  say,"  broke  in  Uncle 
John,  pushing  back  his  chair,  impatiently. 
"  What  don't  they  say,  my  love?  Tell  me 
that,  will  you!  'They  say'  he  has  a  per- 
fujned  bath  every  morning  at  eight  o'clock 
precisely,  though  how  in  thunder  they 
know  so  much  about  it — however,  that's 
none  of  my  business,  I  suppose.  If  you 
will  be  good  enough  to  excuse  me  now,  I 
think  I  will  leave  you  and  Ruth  to  dissect 
the  Colonel's  character  to  your  heart's 
content.  It  is  nearly  nine,  and  I  must  be 
off." 

Auntie  rose  at  once,  and  we  followed 
her  from  the  breakfast-room. 

But  I  could  not  dismiss  the  subject 
so  easily,  and  sundry  harrowing  thoughts 
preyed  upon  my  mind  to  such  an  extent 
that  Uncle,  who  always  had  wonderfully 

54 


A  Morning  of  Retrospection 


quick  intuitions  where  I  was  concerned, 
discovered  the  cloud  at  once. 

"What  ails  my  girl?"  he  asked,  as  I 
went  to  the  door  with  him  for  my  usual 
good-bye  kiss.  "  I  don't  like  to  see  such 
a  troubled  little  face.  Has  the  old  Uncle 
been  hurting  her  feelings?" 

"No,  indeed,  you  dearest!"  I  re- 
sponded, giving  a  reassuring  squeeze  to 
the  arm  that  had  somehow  by  that  time 
slipped  around  my  waist  in  the  old  way. 
"The  very  idea  of  such  a  thing!  It's 
only — only — I  know  it's  silly — but " 

"Of  course  it's  silly,  lady-bird,"  with 
the  kindest  smile  in  the  world,  "  but  never 
mind  that.  I  shan't  care.  It's  only — 
only  what?" 

"  You  bad  old  Uncle !  I  have  half  a 
mind  not  to  tell  you  at  all,  you  poke  fun 
at  me  so!  But  seriously,  I  do  feel  ever 
so  worried,  for  fear — you  know " 

"Yes?     For  fear?" 

" — That  maybe  I  was  naughty  last 
night,  after  all!" 

There!  I  had  said  it,  and  was  hiding 
my  shame-stricken  face  on  his  shoulder. 

55 


Ashes  of  Roses 


"  Naughty,  Ruth  ?  How  were  you 
naughty,  dear?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  I  returned,  meekly, 
"I  hadn't  thought  of  it  before,  but  when 
Aunt  Kate  spoke  about  my  keeping  Mr. 
— Col.  Dennington  talking  so  long  last 
night  and  tiring  him  out,  I  was  afraid — 
afraid  perhaps  I  did,  after  all.  I  remem- 
ber now  that  I  did  most  of  the  talking. 
He  must  have  thought  me  so  forward 
and — and  tiresome,  you  know.  But  truly 
I  didn't  know  he  was  a  Colonel  and  had 
been  voted  for,  and — and  so  rich,  and 
everything.  I  didn't,  truly,  Uncle!  I 
thought  he  was  just  an  every-day  man  like 
anybody  else,  and — oh,  dear!" 

How  convenient  that  shoulder  was,  to 
be  sure!  and  just  the  right  height,  for 
Uncle  was  not  a  very  tall  man, — not  half 
so  tall  as  Mr.  Dennington,  I  thought,  with 
sudden  triumph. 

"  Do  you  suppose  he  thought  me  a 
dreadful  bore?"  I  wailed. 

Uncle  knew  me  too  well  to  suspect  me 
of  the  petty  vanity  of  "  fishing"  for  a  com- 
pliment, so  he  answered  as  seriously  as  I. 

56 


A  Morning  of  Retrospection 


"  My  little  Ruth,  a  bore  ?  I  should  say 
not.  If  he  thought  that,  he's  the  first  man 
that  ever  did,  I'll  warrant." 

"  Oh,  Uncle  dear,  you  are  such  a  com- 
fort!" I  sighed,  nestling  closer.  "  Do  you 
truly  think  so?  But  then  you  know  I 
asked  him  that  awful  question  about  my 
great-grandmother!  Oh,  dear,  how  could 
I?  But  you  see  I  never  thought, — he 
looked  like  such  a  very  old  gentleman," 
I  finished  lamely. 

"  How  old  did  you  think  he  was?" 

"  Oh,  about  sixty  or  seventy,  per- 
haps." 

"You're  not  far  off,"  chuckled  Uncle 
John ;  "  not  over  fifteen  or  twenty  years, 
I  should  say!  But  don't  look  so  con- 
science-smitten, the  Colonel  is  far  too  sen- 
sible a  man  to  take  offence  at  a  little  thing 
like  that.  It's  ten  to  one  he  has  forgot- 
ten that  you  ever  had  a  great-grand- 
mother, and  it's  five  to  one  that  he  has 
forgotten  you  yourself  by  this  time." 

"  Do  you  really  think  so,  Uncle  ?  Oh 
that  is  so  comforting!" 

"  Of  course  I  think  so.     So  cheer  up, 

57 


Ashes  of  Roses 


and  kiss  me  good-bye  like  a  good  girl,  for 
I  must  go." 

So  I  raised  my  crest-fallen  head,  and 
never  was  a  kiss  given  more  willingly  than 
the  one  I  bestowed,  with  the  accuracy 
which  a  week's  practice  had  brought, 
upon  the  exact  centre  of  his  gray  mous- 
tache. 

Dear  old  Uncle !  I  stood  on  the  steps 
to  wave  to  him  as  he  turned  the  corner  of 
the  street,  and  then  danced  upstairs  to 
rejoin  Aunt  Kate  with  a  heart  as  light  as 
my  flying  feet. 

As  we  were  lounging  in  her  dainty 
morning-room  some  hours  later,  deep  in 
the  mysteries  of  fancy-work,  a  sudden  peal 
at  the  bell  startled  us  both,  and  almost 
immediately  the  maid  appeared  with  a  bit 
of  pasteboard  on  her  silver  tray. 

Auntie  glanced  at  the  name,  and  then 
handed  the  card  to  me. 

"  Tell  the  gentleman  I  will  be  down  at 
once,"  she  said  to  the  servant,  while  I  re- 
mained staring  at  the  card. 

"  If  you  please  'm,  he  asked  for  Miss 

58 


A  Morning  of  Retrospection 


Edwards,     too,"     ventured     the     maid. 
"'Both  the  ladies,'  was  what  he  said." 

"Of  course,"  returned  Auntie  ra_ther 
sharply.  "  Tell  him  we  will  be  down  di- 
rectly," and  as  the  servant  disappeared, 
she  turned  to  me  with  a  triumphant  smile. 
"  There,  Ruth !  You  see  he  has  come, 
after  all.  And  at  this  hour  in  the  morn- 
ing, too!" 

"  Is  it  customary  in  the  West  for  gentle- 
men to  make  morning  calls?"  I  asked, 
folding  away  my  work. 

"  No,"  admitted  Auntie,  "  I  can't  say  it 
is  customary,  exactly,  but  it  is  sometimes 
done.  No  doubt  it  is  a  southern  style, 
my  dear,"  and  hastily  smoothing  our 
ruffled  plumage,  we  descended  the  stairs 
to  receive  our  unexpected  visitor.  The 
halls  were  broad  and  sunny,  and  the  sud- 
den transition  into  the  cool,  mysterious 
depths  of  the  dimly-lighted  parlour  made 
us  hesitate  for  a  moment  on  the  threshold. 
I  saw  a  tall  figure  loom  up  from  some- 
where in  the  darkness,  I  heard  again  that 
quiet  voice  speaking  to  Aunt  Kate,  and 
then,  I  scarcely  knew  how,  my  hand  lay 

59 


Ashes  of  Roses 


in  another,  large  and  strong,  whose  fingers 
closed  over  mine  in  a  cool,  firm  clasp. 

I  slipped  into  the  nearest  chair,  and  in 
another  minute  Auntie  had  drawn  up  a 
shade,  and  let  a  flood  of  sunshine  in  upon 
the  scene  with  many  apologies. 

"  I  try  to  keep  the  house  cool  these  hot 
days,"  she  explained,  sinking  gracefully 
upon  the  sofa,  "  and  darken  the  rooms  as 
completely  as  possible,  in  consequence. 
I  hope  you  will  not  think  us  inhospitable 
to  give  you  so  uncanny  a  reception  ?" 

"On  the  contrary,  madam,"  returned 
Colonel  Dennington,  seating  himself  near 
Aunt  Kate,  and  placing  his  hat  upon  the 
low  table  beside  him,  "  on  the  contrary, 
madam,  you  have  given  me  a  reception 
which  is  charmingly  familiar,  for  in  the 
South  we  live  in  darkened  houses  half  the 
year  around,  you  know." 

He  called  it  Saouth,  I  noticed,  with  a 
broad  accent  that  made  me  almost  smile, 
it  fell  so  strangely  on  northern  ears. 
How  stupid  of  me  not  to  have  noticed  it 
the  night  before! 

Curled  up  as  I  was  in  a  big  arm-chair 

60 


A  Morning  of  Retrospection 


in  the  darkest  corner  of  the  room,  I  could 
watch  him  as  intently  as  I  liked,  and  not 
be  seen  myself.  And  I  made  good  use  of 
my  opportunity,  for  to  tell  the  truth  I  had 
become  rather  interested  in  this  "  Man 
with  a  Mystery,"  and  was  glad  of  the 
chance  to  study  him,  at  my  leisure. 

But  I  did  not  find  anything  extraordi- 
nary or  exciting  to  reward  me,  after  all — 
nothing  that  could  be  considered  in  the 
least  "  mysterious."  I  saw  simply  an  or- 
dinary man,  clad  in  an  ordinary  gray 
summer  suit,  a  small  carnation  glowing 
in  the  buttonhole  of  his  coat  like  a  flame. 
As  he  chatted  with  Aunt  Kate,  he  sat  leis- 
urely pulling  off  the  glove  from  his  left 
hand,  which  he  laid,  at  length,  beside  its 
mate  on  his  knee. 

There  was  the  ring  again,  that  tiny 
diamond  which  had  flashed  out  from  ob- 
livion the  night  before,  a  lady's  ring, 
without  a  doubt.  It  was  a  small  stone, 
but  remarkably  brilliant,  and  sparkled  on 
his  finger  like  a  star.  I  could  see,  also, 
what  I  had  not  noticed  the  night  before 
— his  rather  large  chin  and  under-jaw, 

61 


Ashes  of  Roses 


which  gave  a  look  of  hard  determination 
to  his  otherwise  gentle  face.  My  ex- 
perience in  character-reading  in  those 
days  had  been  rather  limited,  and  yet  I 
made  up  my  mind  then  and  there,  that 
the  smiling,  low-voiced,  calm-faced  man, 
chatting  so  lightly  about  the  weather  and 
the  last  new  book,  had  a  will  of  his  own, 
a  will  that  neither  man  nor  time  nor  cir- 
cumstances could  break. 

"He  would  be  quiet  about  it,"  I  re- 
flected. "  He  would  never  storm  nor  rant 
— he  doesn't  look  that  kind.  He  would 
just  turn  icy,  and  have  his  way,  even  if 
the  getting  of  it  wore  him  out,  body  and 
soul!" 

And  then  I  remember  looking  at  him 
very  intently,  and  hoping  that  my  will 
might  never  be  the  unlucky  one  to  dash 
itself  against  the  flint  that  lay  in  that 
tranquil  face.  His  mouth  had  cold,  hard 
lines  about  it  that  I  did  not  like — not 
when  he  spoke,  for  then  his  whole  face 
changed  and  lighted  up — but  when  he 
was  in  repose,  listening,  not  thinking  of 
himself.  Then  it  was  that  these  lines  ap- 
62 


A  Morning  of"  Retrospection 


peared,  each  one  almost  imperceptible 
and  yet,  combined,  they  gave  a  hard  ex- 
pression to  the  big,  square  jaw,  as  if  the 
teeth  inside  were  tightly  set.  And  still 
he  laughed  and  chatted  on,  calm,  quiet, 
perfectly  self-poised,  and  still  the  little 
girl  in  the  corner  nestled  back  in  her  arm- 
chair, and  quickly  and  irrevocably  made 
up  her  mind  in  regard  to  him. 

He  did  not  confine  his  attention  exclu- 
sively to  Aunt  Kate,  of  course,  but  turned 
occasionally,  and  attempted  to  draw  me 
into  the  conversation.  But  I  was  rather 
reticent  that  morning,  and  much  preferred 
to  sit  unnoticed  and  let  the  burden  of  the 
entertainment  fall  upon  Auntie.  I  liked 
to  listen  to  the  rich  oddly  accented  voice, 
which  would  have  proclaimed  him  a  South- 
erner at  the  first  syllable  to  any  but  such 
inexperienced  ears  as  mine.  The  truth 
was  that  all  my  life  until  that  time  had 
been  quietly  spent  in  Portland  and  the  sur- 
rounding country,  at  home  and  in  school, 
and  it  had  happened,  strangely  enough, 
that  I  had  never  met  a  Southern  person 
before,  or  anyone  who  spoke  with  any 

63 


Ashes  of  Roses 


other  than  my  own  familiar  New  England 
accent.  I  had  lived  so  sheltered  a  life, 
had  seen  so  little  of  the  world  and  people 
in  general,  thanks  to  the  Puritan  ideas  of 
my  pretty  mother,  that  this  new  western 
world  and  its  strange  inhabitants  were  a 
constant  wonder  and  revelation  to  my  in- 
nocent soul. 

So  I  opened  my  blue  eyes  very  wide, 
made  a  thorough  analysis  of  our  visitor  in 
my  girlish  way — and  had  just  about  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  in  spite  of  certain 
afore-mentioned  disadvantages  I  was  still 
going  to  like  him,  when  he  rose  to  take 
his  leave. 

"  I  hope  I  have  not  detained  you  too 
long  ?"  he  said.  "  I  did  not  intend  making 
so  long  a  call  when  I  came  in — and  in  fact 
I  owe  you  ladies  an  apology,  I  suppose, 
for  the  rather  unusual  hour  at  which  I  ap- 
peared. I  have  no  excuse  to  offer, — I 
simply  took  advantage  of  your  very  kind 
permission  to  call,  at  the  first  oppor- 
tunity." 

"Oh,  don't  apologise,  Colonel,"  cried 
Aunt  Kate,  into  whose  cheeks  an  unusual 

64 


A  Morning  of  Retrospection 


colour  had  risen.  "  We  are  only  too  de- 
lighted to  have  had  the  good  fortune  to 
be  at  home.  You  must  come  often,  now 
you  have  found  the  way, — just  drop  in 
morning,  afternoon  or  evening,  whenever 
you  feel  disposed.  We  like  informality, 
and  you  will  always  find  a  hearty  welcome 
from  both  Mr.  Arnold  and  myself." 

The  Colonel  expressed  himself  as  deeply 
honoured,  and  bowing  courteously  over 
our  hands,  he  made  his  adieux  without 
further  delay.  As  the  door  closed  upon 
him  Auntie  hastened  out  to  the  kitchen 
with  some  important  message  in  regard  to 
luncheon,  I  suppose,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment I  found  myself  stealing  to  the  win- 
dow to  have  a  sly  peep,  through  the  pro- 
tecting mist  of  lace  curtains,  at  the  tall 
figure  making  its  way  leisurely  down  to  the 
gate.  He  paused,  just  as  I  looked,  to 
light  a  cigar,  and  as  the  flame  flashed  up  in 
his  bronzed  face,  I  could  not  help  thinking 
how  handsome  he  must  have  been  twenty 
years  ago,  perhaps,  in  the  first  flush  of 
his  manhood,  when  the  heavy  white  hair 
was  brown  and  curling,  and  the  fire  of 

65 


Ashes  of  Roses 


youth  and  hope  shone  in  those  velvety 
eyes. 

"  I  fancy  he  would  love  anybody  pretty 
hard,  if  he  loved  at  all,"  I  mused,  watch- 
ing him  out  of  sight,  "  and  of  course  he 
must  have  been  in  love  ever  so  many 
times  when  he  was  a  young  man.  I  won- 
der who  they  were,  and  if  they  were  very, 
very  pretty!" 

Idle  questionings!     Truly  worthy  of  an 
idle  summer's  day!     And  I  turned  away 
from  the  window,  with  a  half  smile  at  my 
own  foolish  thoughts. 
66 


Ill 

THE   DAYS   GO   BY 

AND  so  the  days  slipped  by,  all  too 
quickly  for  the  happy  little  maiden 
called  Ruth,  who  was  enjoying  every  mo- 
ment of  her  visit  in  that  land  of  perpetual 
sunshine.  From  the  time  she  opened  her 
eyes  in  the  morning  upon  the  fresh, 
new-created  world,  fragrant  with  the  soft 
breath  of  the  prairie  breeze,  until  she  laid 
her  head  upon  her  pillow  at  night,  too 
tired  to  dream,  she  was  radiantly  happy. 
To  be  sure,  those  were  quiet  days — dull, 
some  might  have  called  them,  but  full  of 
those  sweet,  restful  pleasures  that  glad- 
den the  heart  without  bringing  in  their 
train  heavy  eyes,  pale  cheeks,  and  throb- 
bing heads.  There  were  the  daily  drives 
with  Auntie  behind  the  sleek  pony,  when 
we  exchanged  all  sorts  of  delightful  fem- 
inine confidences — and  the  walks  with 

67 


Ashes  of  Roses 


Uncle  John,  in  the  cool  of  the  evening, 
leaning  contentedly  on  his  arm,  and  pick- 
ing up  the  pearls  and  rubies  of  superior 
wisdom  that  fell  from  his  lips  (occasion- 
ally letting  fall  a  few  myself,  to  his  intense 
edification  and  amusement),  and  the  vari- 
ous tea-parties  and  garden-parties,  and 
sociables  and  concerts,  and  chatty  little 
calls  upon  our  neighbours'  wives  and 
daughters — and  above  all,  those  white- 
winged  messengers  of  love  that  came  daily 
from  the  dear  ones  in  the  far-off  East — 
these  were  among  our  pleasures. 

And  then,  not  least  of  all,  were  the  cosy 
evenings  at  home,  when  half  a  dozen 
friends  would  drop  in  to  pay  their  respects 
to  Auntie,  and  smoke  a  cigar  with  Uncle 
John, — young  men,  mostly,  with  whom 
they  both  seemed  to  be  great  favourites. 
What  pleasant  evenings  they  were,  and 
how  well  I  remember  them,  when  every 
nook  and  corner  of  the  piazza,  had  its  oc- 
cupant, and  everyone  was  talking  and 
laughing  at  once,  in  charming  abandon! 
Auntie  would  move  about  among  her 
guests,  looking  like  a  frail  white  lily,  so 

68 


The  Days  Go  By 

beautiful  and  pale,  and  later  on  she  and  I 
would  pass  some  tinkling  glasses  of  frappe 
or  sherbet,  which  always  seemed  to  be  bet- 
ter, somehow,  than  the  frappe  or  sherbet 
that  anyone  else  ever  made.  At  least 
so  they  used  to  say.  And  then  by-and-by, 
Auntie  would  send  me  into  the  dim,  moon- 
streaked  parlour  to  sing,  which  I  always 
did  very  willingly,  though  my  repertoire 
consisted  mostly  of  the  simplest  of  little 
songs  and  ballads.  Ah,  those  were  sweet, 
happy  days  that  went  gliding  away  all  too 
fast,  too  fast!  No  wonder  I  was  blithe 
and  gay,  carolling  like  a  bird  for  very 
joy  of  existence! 

From  the  time  of  his  first  call,  on  the 
morning  after  the  eventful  party,  Col. 
Dennington  was  a  constant  visitor  at  our 
house,  and  we  soon  found  ourselves  grow- 
ing very  fond  of  him.  Even  Uncle  be- 
came reconciled,  in  course  of  time,  to  his 
"confounded  white  hair,"  and  he  and  the 
Colonel  would  spend  many  pleasant  hours 
smoking  Havanas  and  quarrelling  amiably 
over  politics,  each  never  failing  to  remark 
at  the  end  of  such  discussions  that  the 

69 


Ashes  of  Roses 


other  was  no  doubt  conscientious  in  his 
beliefs,  but  "  terribly  misinformed,  sir, 
terribly  misinformed!" 

Auntie's  regard  for  our  new  friend  in- 
creased with  each  visit,  and  I  didn't  won- 
der, for  never  were  attentions  more  deli- 
cately and  unostentatiously  bestowed  than 
those  which  he  paid  her — as  indeed  this 
very  old-fashioned  gentleman  paid  all 
women,  of  whatever  kind  or  station  in  life, 
with  whom  he  came  in  contact.  It  was 
the  sex  he  seemed  to  reverence,  not  the 
individual. 

Let  me  see.  There  is  so  much  to  tell, 
and  so  much  to  remember  that  I  must  stop 
a  minute  to  think  before  I  can  make  up 
my  mind  just  when  to  begin. 

As  I  sit  with  my  pen  lying  idle  in  my 
fingers,  recalling  the  events  of  that  strange 
summer,  the  first  thing  that  comes  to  me 
is  a  certain  hot  afternoon  about  a  week 
after  the  wonderful  party.  I  can't  write 
very  logically  just  here,  I  fear,  for  I  am 
an  old  woman  now,  you  know,  and  this 
was  many  many  years  ago — so  you  must 
bear  with  me  and  be  patient  while  I  do 
70 


The  Days  Go  By 


my  best  to  relate  it  all  in  its  natural  order. 
I  am  sure  of  one  thing,  however,  which  is 
that  although  Col.  Dennington  had  been 
to  see  us  very  frequently  since  he  had  first 
met  my  aunt  and  taken  such  a  fancy  to 
her,  this  afternoon  of  which  I  speak  was 
the  very  first  time  that  he  and  I  had  ever 
been  alone  together. 

How  it  happened,  I  have  quite  forgot- 
ten. I  only  know  that  Auntie  had  gone 
out  somewhere,  and  left  me  in  full  posses- 
sion of  the  big  house — and  also  that  it  was 
decidedly  the  hottest  day  of  the  season. 
Of  the  latter  fact  I  am  quite,  quite  sure! 
I  remember  that  I  had  tried  every  room  in 
the  house  in  my  effort  to  keep  cool.  I 
had  thrown  myself  on  Auntie's  couch  by 
the  west  window,  and  when  the  sun  drove 
me  away  had  gone  to  try  the  north  side 
of  the  house,  and  found  myself  at  once 
cut  off  from  the  breeze.  I  then  compro- 
mised by  going  to  my  own  room  whose 
windows  looked  toward  the  east — and 
Portland — but  Portland  didn't  happen  to 
be  in  sight  just  then,  and  there  seemed 
to  be  nothing  else  of  particular  interest 

71 


Ashes  of  Roses 


to  see,  as  the  room  was  in  the  back  of  the 
house. 

So  I  resolved  to  try  the  south  window 
in  the  parlour,  and  accordingly  tripped 
downstairs,  my  heels  clicking  like  casta- 
nets on  the  hardwood  steps  as  I  went. 
The  room  seemed  delightfully  cool  as  I 
entered,  but  oh  how  dark  it  was!  I  liked 
a  darkened  room  well  enough,  usually, 
but  this  afternoon,  all  alone  in  the  great, 
echoing  house,  there  was  something 
strange  and  almost  uncanny  in  the  sub- 
dued gloom,  so  I  hurriedly  pulled  up  a 
shade  and  let  in  a  great  windowful  of  sun- 
shine which  slanted  across  the  floor  like 
a  sudden  stream  of  gold.  The  light  sum- 
mer wind  entered  with  it,  throbbed  for  a 
moment  against  my  cheek  and  set  the  blue 
frills  at  my  neck  delicately  fluttering,  then 
seemed  to  steal  quietly  back  again  through 
the  open  window. 

"Good-bye,  you  dear  little  breeze,"  I 
whispered,  stretching  out  my  hands  in  the 
childish  way  I  had  never  quite  outgrown. 
"  Fly  straight  to  my  precious  mamma  and 
say,  that  you  left  her  little  girl  well  and 

72 


The  Days  Go  By 


happy,  and  that  she  will  try  to  be  good, 
always.  Then  breathe  a  kiss  upon  her 
pretty  pale  cheeks  and  on  her  mouth  and 
her  blue,  blue  eyes,  and  tell  her  to  be  pa- 
tient, for  her  little  Ruth  will  come  to  her 
very  soon  now.  It  won't  be  long  to  wait. " 

And  the  breeze  stirred  the  leaves  of  the 
cottonwood  tree  outside  as  it  floated  away, 
away  toward  the  sky,  with  my  message 
in  its  wings. 

As  I  stood  there,  watching  and  dream- 
ing, leaning  idly  against  the  window- 
frame,  a  sudden  sound  made  me  look  up, 
and  I  saw  a  familiar  figure  coming  along 
the  walk.  He  looked  rather  tired,  I 
thought,  but  perhaps  it  was  only  the  un- 
usual heat  of  the  day  that  made  his  fine 
head  droop,  and  his  step  so  slow  and  list- 
less. He  was  almost  past  the  gate,  and 
I  thought  he  was  not  going  to  see  me,  but 
just  then  he  glanced  toward  the  house, 
and  caught  sight  of  the  little  figure  in  the 
window,  smiling  and  nodding  in  undis- 
guised pleasure. 

He  raised  his  hat  and  was  passing  on, 
when,  as  with  a  sudden  impulse,  he  turned 

73 


Ashes  of  Roses 


upon  his  heel,  unlatched  the  front  gate 
and  started  deliberately  toward  the  house. 
I  ran  to  the  door,  and  though  it  was  big 
and  heavy  I  had  opened  it  before  he  had 
time  to  ring  the  bell,  and  was  holding  out 
a  cordial  hand  in  greeting. 

"  You  are  glad  to  see  me  then  ?"  he  said, 
keeping  my  hand  for  an  instant  and  look- 
ing down  into  my  face  with  those  dark 
eyes  into  which  a  sudden  light  had  flown. 
"And  does  not  the  old  friend  wear  out  his 
welcome,  coming  so  often  ?" 

"Indeed  he  doesn't!"  I  returned, 
warmly.  "  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,  for 
I  was  very  lonely  just  now, — and  so  blue." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  with  a  quick  glance  at 
my  dress.  "  It  seemed  like  a  Lit  of  heav- 
en's own  blue  peeping  at  me  from  the 
window  just  now.  And  how  could  I  turn 
my  back  on  Paradise,  Miss  Ruth  ?" 

"Oh,  but  that  isn't  what  I  meant  at 
all!"  I  insisted,  leading  the  way  into  the 
parlour.  "  I  meant  blue  in  my  heart, 
don't  you  see?" 

With  which  I  proceeded  to  settle  my- 
self among  my  favourite  cushions  on  the 

74 


The  Days  Go  By 

sofa,  while  my  visitor  seated  himself  not 
far  away  in  one  of  the  big  arm-chairs. 

"  Mrs.  Arnold  is  at  home  ?"  he  remarked. 

"  No,  she  has  been  away  ever  since 
luncheon." 

"  No  wonder  you  were  feeling  lonely 
and  blue,"  he  said  kindly. 

"Oh,  but  it  isn't  that,"  I  hastened  to 
assure  him.  "  It  isn't  that  at  all,  though 
of  course  I  miss  her.  I — I  was  thinking 
about  my  mamma,"  I  added,  half  shyly. 

"Which  certainly  could  not  have  made 
you  blue?"  returned  the  Colonel,  in  evi- 
dent surprise. 

I  nodded. 

"Of  course  you  don't  understand,"  I 
remarked.  "  How  could  you,  for  you 
don't  know  that  my  dear  mamma  is  dead. " 

He  raised  his  head  quickly. 

"  Not  dead  ?"  he  repeated. 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  my  lips  trembling. 
"  She  went  away  from  us  three  years 
ago." 

He  said  not  a  word,  but  only  turned 
his  chair  a  trifle,  and  sat  shading  his  eyes 
with  his  hand,  in  the  old  way, 

75 


Ashes  of  Roses 


"It  almost  broke  my  papa's  heart,"  I 
went  on,  rather  unsteadily.  "  He — he 
was  very  fond  of  her.  Everyone  used  to 
say  they  were  lovers  still,  although  they 
had  been  married  nearly  twenty  years 
when  she — went  away.  But  she  had 
loved  him  always,  all  her  life,  you  know." 

"Yes?" 

The  voice  was  kind,  and  yet  it  seemed 
to  me  that  he  was  not  particularly  inter- 
ested in  this  bit  of  family  history,  so  I 
hurried  on. 

"And  it  was  hard  for  us,  too.  Our 
home  seems  so  empty  without  her,  we 
can't  get  used  to  it,  somehow.  Oh,  I  get 
so  blue  and  homesick  sometimes — home- 
sick for  the  dear  old  home,  just  as  it  used 
to  be,  with  mamma  in  it." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  gently,  all  the  indiffer- 
ence gone  in  an  instant.  "  I  don't  won- 
der, little  friend.  I  have  been  through  it 
too,  and  understand  only  too  well  what 
a  sad,  sad  thing  it  is  to  be  homesick." 

"  Have  you  ever  been  homesick  ?"  I 
asked  in  surprise. 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

76 


The  Days  Go  By 

"I'm  so  sorry,"  I  answered,  earnestly, 
for  something  in  his  face,  rather  than  in 
his  words  went  straight  to  my  heart. 
"  Have  you  been  so  very  homesick  ?" 

"Yes,"  he  said  again. 

Words  rose  to  my  lips,  but  died  there, 
at  the  sight  of  that  patient  face,  with  its 
weary  smile,  sadder  than  any  words  he 
could  have  spoken. 

"  But  it  was  long  ago,"  he  went  on,  still 
in  the  same  quiet  voice,  "  many  years  ago, 
little  friend,  and  I  am  learning  to  be 
braver  now — I  think." 

"  Oh,  we  were  to  be  friends,  weren't 
we  ?"  I  cried,  brightening  suddenly  at  the 
remembrance.  "  How  nice  it  seems  to 
have  you  call  me  that!  I  had  quite  for- 
gotten it." 

"  So  soon  ?" 

"  Yes, "  I  said,  hanging  my  head.  "  But 
I'll  try  not  to,  again." 

"Then  there  is  something  else,"  he 
continued,  "  that  I  hope  you  have  not  for- 
gotten. Something  else  you  promised  me 
that  night,  don't  you  remember?" 

I  knit  my  brows,  and  leaned  anxiously 

77 


Ashes  of  Roses 


forward,  my  hands  clasped  upon  my 
knees,  but  for  the  life  of  me,  I  could  not 
think. 

"  Something  else  ?"  I  began.  "  Some- 
thing— oh,  now  I  know !  My  great-grand- 
mother's picture,  wasn't  it?" 

"  To  be  sure.  I  didn't  think  you  would 
be  so  cruel  as  to  forget  it  altogether." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  didn't  forget.  But  I  thought 
• — perhaps,  you  had. " 

"  And  why  in  the  world  should  you  think 
that?  Because  I  have  not  asked  for  it 
before?  Do  you  not  realise  that  this  is 
the  very  first  moment " 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  hastened  to  assure  him. 
"  It  wasn't  that.  The  truth  is,  you  see, 
Uncle  said  that  you  had  probably  forgot- 
ten I  ever  had  a  great-grandmother,  and — 
and  I  supposed  he  knew." 

The  dark  eyes  flashed  a  quick  glance  at 
me. 

"  Mr.  Arnold  gives  me  credit  for  a 
rather  short  memory.  But  he  does  not 
know  me  very  well  as  yet,  which  must  be 
his  excuse.  For  you  see  I  have  remem- 
bered it,  Miss  Ruth,  and  am  more  than 

78 


The  Days  Go  By 


anxious  to  see  it — that  is,  if  it  is  not  too 
much  trouble?" 

Trouble!  I  stopped  but  to  bestow  one 
beaming  glance  of  gratitude  upon  him, 
before  running  upstairs  and  returning  al- 
most immediately  with  my  treasure  dan- 
gling from  my  finger  by  its  slender  gold 
chain. 

The  picture  was  painted  on  ivory,  and 
set  in  an  old-fashioned  gold  locket  unique 
in  shape  and  workmanship,  and  studded 
around  the  edge  with  tiny  diamonds. 
How  they  glinted  and  sparkled  that  day 
in  the  afternoon  sunshine!  It  was  very 
precious  to  me,  this  heirloom  handed  down 
through  four  generations  to  the  last  little 
Ruth  Penrose,  and  I  looked  into  his  face 
very  gravely  as  I  laid  it  in  his  hand. 

"  Don't  drop  it,"  I  whispered,  and  knelt 
upon  the  floor  beside  his  chair,  flushed 
with  pride,  and  hanging  over  the  beauti- 
ful face  in  speechless  delight. 

For  it  was  a  beautiful  face,  that  Ruth 
of  long  ago,  and  the  long-lashed  violet 
eyes  that  looked  out  at  us  from  the  old 
locket,  might  well  have  set  my  great- 

79 


Ashes  of  Roses 


grandpapa's  young  heart  a-beating!  It 
was  a  slender,  girlish  figure,  gowned  in 
the  simplest  of  white  satins — her  wedding 
dress.  The  small  proud  head  held  erect 
with  half-unconscious  grace,  was  crowned 
with  curls  of  the  same  rich  brown  as  the 
delicate  brows  and  lashes,  and  the  skin 
was  of  a  fair  creamy  whiteness,  without 
the  least  suspicion  of  pink,  though  oddly 
enough  the  lips  were  full,  and  crimson  as 
ripe  cherries.  The  sweet,  sensitive  mouth 
was  half  parted  in  a  smile  so  winning  so 
irresistible 

I  looked  up  at  Colonel  Dennington.  He 
had  not  spoken  a  word,  but  was  gazing 
with  almost  bated  breath  into  that  tender 
face  which  had  smiled  its  last  nearly  a 
century  ago. 

"Do  you  wonder  that  I  love  her?"  I 
whispered. 

He  shook  his  head,  and  only  looked  at 
me.  But  I  knew  he  understood. 

At  last  he  lifted  the  locket  with  tender 
reverential  fingers,  as  one  might  touch  a 
sleeping  child,  and  laid  it  back  in  my  hand. 
And  still  without  a  word. 

80 


The  Days  Go  By 

How  vividly  it  all  comes  back  to  me  as 
I  write!  The  sunshine  falls  with  merci- 
less glare  upon  the  white  head,  bowed  so 
drearily,  and  upon  the  little  figure  kneel- 
ing beside  him,  her  own  curly  brown  head 
bent  lovingly  over  the  diamond-studded 
miniature. 

"  I  love  her  so!"  I  murmured,  my  heart 
throbbing  fast.  "  And  I  am  so  proud  to 
think  that  her  blood  runs  in  my  veins. 
Ah,  how  good  I  ought  to  be,  how  brave, 
how  noble,  to  deserve  her  name!  Three 
others  have  borne  it  before  me,  you  know, 
and  never  yet  has  it  been  disgraced  by  a 
single  unwomanly  action.  And  so  it  comes 
to  me,  the  last  Ruth  Penrose,  and  so  I 
must  keep  it  to  the  end,  pure,  spot- 

"  God  in  heaven!" 

Did  I  hear  the  words,  or  was  I  dream- 
ing? I  looked  up — and  found  myself 
alone  beside  the  empty  chair. 

The  Colonel  had  pushed  past  me  almost 
roughly,  and  was  pacing  up  and  down  the 
room  with  long  quick  strides,  his  hands 
locked  together  behind  him  in  a  pressure 

81 


Ashes  of  Roses 


that  made  the  veins  in  the  wrist  stand  out 
like  whip-cords.  His  lips  were  tightly 
set,  as  if  by  an  almost  heroic  effort,  and 
that  cold  hard  line  I  had  noticed  before 
about  the  mouth,  had  deepened  strangely. 

I  looked  up  at  him,  trembling  suddenly. 
Was  he  going  mad,  I  wondered?  And 
what  had  I  said  or  done  to  vex  him  so  ? 
If  I  only  dared,  I  would  run  to  him,  seize 
one  of  those  horrible,  fiercely-veined 
hands,  and  beseech  him  not  to  look  so 
dreadful,  but  to  tell  me  what  I  had  done. 

I  started  to  my  feet,  and  took  a  quick 
step  toward  him, — then  stopped,  irreso- 
lute. Some  instinct  told  me,  child  as  I 
was,  that  it  would  be  worse  than  useless 
to  approach  him,  that  words  would  only 
glance  off,  unheeded,  against  that  steely 
armour  in  which  he  had  intrenched  him- 
self. Nay,  worse — I  knew  then,  as  well  as 
I  know  now,  that  one  blaze  from  those  ter- 
rible eyes  would  have  consumed  the  rash 
questioner  in  an  instant.  So  I  only 
waited,  silent,  trembling. 

Up  and  down,  up  and  down !  Would 
he  never  stop  ?  I  covered  my  face  with 

82 


The  Days  Go  By 


my  hands,  but  could  not  shut  out  the 
sound  of  those  footsteps,  echoing  weirdly 
through  the  silent  room.  But  they  are 
growing  slower,  heavier,  now — a  moment 
more,  and  they  have  ceased  altogether. 

I  venture  to  raise  my  head  at  last,  and 
find  that  he  has  stopped  before  the  open 
window,  and  is  gazing  up,  far  far  away 
into  the  blue.  He  has  forgotten  me  long 
ago,  but  is  alone  with  his  own  soul  and 
its  Maker.  His  face  is  calm,  and  he 
stands  very  quietly,  his  hands  still  clasped 
behind  him,  his  head  thrown  back  a  little. 
How  tall  and  straight  he  is,  not  shrinking 
nor  cringing,  now — not  hiding  his  face 
from  the  light  of  day,  but  brave  once 
more,  to  confront  his  trouble,  whatever  it 
is,  like  a  man. 

How  long  he  stood  there,  looking  out 
upon  God's  smiling  world,  I  never  knew. 
It  seemed  hours  to  the  trembling  bit  of 
humanity  beside  the  empty  chair.  But  at 
last  he  turned  around  slowly,  in  a  dazed 
sort  of  way — and  saw  the  wondering  face 
turned  up  to  his,  with  a  world  of  wistful 
sorrow  in  its  eyes. 

83 


Ashes  of  Roses 


"Poor  child!"  he  said,  coming  to  my 
side,  and  laying  his  hand  for  an  instant 
lightly  upon  my  brown  curls,  "  poor  little 
Ruth!  Did  I  frighten  you  so  much?" 

But  I  could  not  answer. 

"  What  a  brutal  old  fellow  I  am,  to  be 
sure!"  he  said,  leading  me  gently  to  my 
old  place  on  the  sofa,  and  seating  himself 
beside  me.  "  Can  you  ever  find  it  in  your 
good  heart  to  forgive  me,  little  one?" 

Ah,  but  it  was  the  old  face  that  was 
bending  over  me  once  more,  the  familiar 
face  with  its  kind,  quiet  eyes!  Was  the 
storm  over,  indeed  ?  Or  stop — had  there 
ever  been  a  storm  at  all  ?  No  trace  of  it 
was  left,  only  a  great  white  calm,  most 
peaceful,  most  wonderful. 

"Poor  child!"  he  said  again,  as  still  I 
could  not  speak,  but  only  sit  and  look  at 
him  in  silence,  "  you  are  shaking  like  a 
leaf." 

"I — I  can't  help  it,"  I  managed  to 
stammer.  "  I  never  saw  anyone — that 
way,  before.  It  frightened  me  a  little." 

"  Of  course.  Will  you  ever  be  able  to 
forgive  me  for  this?  But  I  know  I  do 

84 


The  Days  Go  By 

not  deserve  such  happiness  at  your  hands, 
I  only  deserve  that  you  should  hate  me, 
always." 

"  No, "  I  said.  "  Have  we  not  promised 
to  be  friends?  It  will  take  more  than 
this  to  make  me  forget  my  promise  again. " 

"I  believe  you,"  he  said,  slowly,  "and 
— I  thank  you.  But  may  I  not  just  say 
this  much  in  my  own  defence  ? — there  is 
no  one  to  speak  for  me,  you  know.  Since 
God  sent  me  into  this  dreary  land,  ten 
years  ago,  no  human  soul,  until  this  hour, 
has  ever  seen  me  without  the  mask  that 
hides  my  life  sorrow.  How  much  I  re- 
gret that  your  innocent  eyes  should  have 
been  the  first  to  see  me  forget  myself. 
He  only  knows — you  cannot.  I  thought 
myself  so  strong,  so  brave  after  these  long 
years  of  self-control,  so  defiant  of  the 
worst  the  Fates  could  send  me  now, — this 
is  my  punishment,  I  suppose.  It  shows 
me  that  I  am  weaker  than  I  thought,  and 
for  a  moment — it  seemed " 

His  voice  faltered,  but  he  went  bravely 
on. 

"  I  will  not  offend  again.     Of  that  you 

85 


Ashes  of  Roses 


may  be  sure.  Since  you  in  your  angel 
goodness  have  pardoned  me  this  once " 

"  But  it  was  all  my  fault  in  the  first 
place,"  I  broke  in,  eagerly.  "  I  ought  not 
to  have  shown  you  the  picture.  But  I 
never  dreamed  that  it  could — that  it — you 
know  you  said  you  had  never  seen  her," 
I  finished,  growing  confused. 

"  Which  was  quite  true.  I  never  did  see 
her,  and  it  was  not  your  fault  at  all.  She 
must 'have  been  a  very  beautiful  woman, 
and  I  thank  you  most  heartily  for  having 
done  me  the  honour  of  showing  it  tome." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad  you  think  so!"  I 
cried  in  delight. 

"Hers  is  indeed  a  rare  face,"  said  the 
Colonel.  "  And  I  think  the  memory  of  it 
will  make  me,  as  it  ought  to  make  any 
man,  better — and  stronger." 

"She  was  of  Puritan  blood,  you  know," 
I  added. 

"  One  has  only  to  look  into  her  eyes  to 
realise  that." 

"  Yes,  indeed !"  I  cried,  joyously.  "  Oh, 
how  well  you  understand  things,  Colonel 
Dennington!  It  is  such  a  comfort  to  talk 

86 


The  Days  Go  By 

to  you!  Aren't  her  eyes  perfectly  beau- 
tiful— did  you  ever  see  such  eyes  in  all 
your  life?" 

"  Ye-es, "  after  a  moment's  hesitation, 
in  which  he  had  evidently  been  pondering 
the  subject  deeply.  "Yes,  I  believe  I 
have." 

"You  have!"  I  exclaimed  in  dismay, 
at  this  unwarrantable  high  treason  to  the 
memory  of  my  Well-beloved. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  smiling.  "I  am 
sorry  to  be  obliged  to  admit  it,  if  it  dis- 
pleases your  ladyship,  but  I  must  confess 
— since  you  asked  me,  you  know! — that 
I  have  seen  eyes  that  seemed  to  me  quite 
as  beautiful  as  even  hers." 

"Oh,  yes,"  triumphantly.  "They 
seemed  so  to  you,  I  dare  say.  But  still 
they  might  not  have  been  really,  you 
know — the  same  colour,  just  the  same 
colour — and  all." 

"Ah,  but  they  really  were,"  persisted 
the  Colonel.  "  I  shall  have  to  quarrel 
with  you  still,  I  fear.  They  are,  like 
hers,  two  great,  wide-open  violets  fresh 
from  God's  garden." 

87 


Ashes  of  Roses 


I  could  only  sit  and  look  up  at  him,  as 
he  went  on,  still  smiling: 

"  They  are  like  hers,  shining  with  truth 
and  innocence,  looking  out  from  under 
a  thin  fringe  of  brown  lashes  in  fearless 
wonderment  upon  the  great  world,  and 
the  strange  things  they  see  there.  And 
I  think  you  would  have  to  confess  it,  too, 
could  you  see  them  as  I  have  done,  some- 
times." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  them  so  much,"  I 
cried,  clasping  my  hands,  "  so  very  much, 
Colonel  Dennington,  if  they  are  like  hers, 
and  as  beautiful  as  you  say." 

He  did  not  reply,  but  only  looked 
straight  into  my  face  with  a  keen  piercing 
gaze  that  would  have  made  me  wince  if  I 
had  had  anything  in  my  heart  to  hide  from 
him.  As  it  was,  I  only  looked  back  at 
him  serenely,  with  a  gaze  as  steadfast  as 
his  own. 

"Where  must  I  go  to  see  her?"  I 
asked.  "  Does  she  live  in  Prairie  City  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  You  must  like  her  very  much  to  speak 
so  beautifully  about  her,"  I  ventured. 

88 


The  Days  Go  By 


"  Do  you  like  her  very  much,  Colonel  Den- 
nington?  Is  she  your  sweetheart  ?" 

"  No,  little  one.  I  am  not  so  fortunate 
as  you  think.  She  may  be  someone's 
sweetheart,  but  not  mine." 

"  But  you  like  her?" 

"Oh,  yes." 

"  Very  much  ?" 

"Yes." 

"And  does  she  like  you  too?" 

"  She  has  told  me  she  does." 

"  Then  of  course  she  does,  if  she  has 
said  so,"  I  mused.  "Oh,  how  anxious  I 
am  to  see  her!" 

The  Colonel  walked  across  the  room 
and  stooped  to  straighten  a  fold  in  the 
Persian  rug. 

"I  will  show  you  her  picture  sometime, 
if  you  wish,"  he  remarked  at  length. 

"  So  you  have  her  picture  ?  Show  it  to 
me  now.  Have  you  it  in  your  pocket?" 

"  No,  not  now.  I  will  send  it  around 
in  a  day  or  two,"  he  replied,  coming 
toward  me.  "  I  may  have  to  send  to 
Chicago  for  it.  And  now  I  think  I  will 
say  good-bye,  with  your  permission,  for 


Ashes  of  Roses 


it  is  getting  late.  Be  good  enough  to 
present  my  compliments  to  Mrs.  Arnold, 
and  express  my — my " 

He  hesitated,  and  for  the  first  time  in 
our  acquaintance  seemed  at  a  loss  for  a 
word,  so  I  hastened  to  his  assistance. 

"  Your  regrets  ?"  I  suggested,  rising  at 
once.  "  Certainly.  She  will  be  so  sorry 
to  have  missed  you,  I  know.  She  is  very 
apt  to  be  out  at  this  time,  however,  so 
perhaps  you  had  better  not  come  any 
more  in  the  afternoon,  don't  you  think?" 

"  A  wise  suggestion,  no  doubt,"  replied 
the  Colonel,  turning  a  little  abruptly  and 
beginning  to  hunt  for  his  hat. 

"  And  don't  forget  the  picture  to-mor- 
row," I  added  gaily.  "I  am  just  dying 
of  impatience  to  see  the  Lady  of  the  Vio- 
let Eyes." 

He  turned  back  as  quickly  as  he  had 
turned  away,  and  stood  looking  down  at 
me  for  a  moment  without  speaking. 

"  What  are  you  ?"  he  said  at  last.  "  A 
child  or  a  woman?" 

"I  don't  know,"  I  laughed.  "I'm 
seventeen." 

90 


The,  Days  Go  By 

"  If  you  were  three  years  older,  I  should 
call  you  the  most  consummate  coquette  I 
had  ever  met.  If  you  were  three  years 
younger,  I  should  be  bringing  you  sugar- 
plums and  taking  you  to  the  circus.  As 
it  is — well,  my  new  friend  is  a  woman  in 
one  breath,  a  child  in  the  next,  an  odd 
little  creature  that  puzzles  me  sadly  some- 
times, I'll  confess.  But  never  mind.  I 
like  her,  and  perhaps  I'll  learn  to  under- 
stand her  better,  by-and-by. " 

"  Don't  be  too  sure,"  I  answered,  shak- 
ing my  head,  warningly.  "  He  who  un- 
derstands a  woman — you  have  heard  the 
rest  ?" 

So  the  shadow  that  had  fallen  between  us 
for  a  time  that  afternoon  lifted  its  leaden 
wings  and  floated  silently  away — and  we 
parted  as  we  had  met,  with  gay  words  on 
our  lips  and  the  sunshine  in  our  hearts. 

A  few  days  later,  a  box  "  for  Miss  Ed- 
wards "  was  left  at  the  door,  too  large 
a  box  to  contain  the  photograph  for  which 
I  was  looking,  although  I  was  sure  I  knew 
who  had  sent  it. 

91 


Ashes  of  Roses 


Hastily  tearing  off  the  paper,  I  found 
a  square,  rather  shallow  pink  pasteboard 
box,  tied  with  ribbons  of  the  same  dainty 
shade.  It  was  but  the  work  of  a  moment 
to  loosen  the  bow,  and  I  had  lifted  the 
cover  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it, 
and  was  gazing  in  almost  breathlessly. 

Shall  I  ever  forget  that  sea  of  long- 
stemmed  violets,  turning  up  their  shy, 
tender  faces  to  the  eager  one  looking 
down  upon  them!  Springtime  itself 
seemed  to  hover  around  me,  borne  on  the 
wings  of  that  delicious  fragrance,  while 
the  darlings  lay  there,  smiling,  each  with 
its  tiny  tear  of  dew,  as  if  in  loving  mem- 
ory of  the  home,  far  away  somewhere,  in 
the  cool  grass. 

But  as  I  looked,  in  speechless  delight, 
a  bright  gleam  of  something  caught  my 
eye.  Could  it  be  the  picture  after  all  ?  I 
pushed  aside  the  little  blossoms  to  peep 
underneath — but  all  I  saw  was  two  big 
wondering  eyes  that  looked  strangely  fa- 
miliar, somehow. 

An  instant  more,  and  the  truth  flashed 
across  my  bewildered  brain.  A  small 

92 


The  Days  Go  By 

mirror,  mounted  in  burnished  silver,  a  su- 
perb bit  of  workmanship  in  itself,  had  been 
artfully  hidden  in  the  fragrant  nest  of  vio- 
lets, and  I  had  gazed  down  lovingly  and 
expectantly  into  my  own  face! 

As  I  sat  there  in  irresolute  trembling 
surprise,  a  card  fell  from  the  box  at  my 
feet.  It  was  quickly  read — 

"  Will  my  little  friend,  the  Lady  with  the 
Violet  Eyes,  forgive  me  ?" 

93 


IV 

A    STORY    OF    THE    PAST 

I  SAW  Colonel  Dennington  very  fre- 
quently after  that,  but  our  meetings 
were  merely  commonplace,  and  scarcely 
linger  in  my  memory  at  all.  I  know  that 
he  came,  and  chatted  and  smoked,  and 
made  himself  agreeable  generally — that 
was  all. 

I  was  rather  shy  than  otherwise  when 
he  was  present,  I  couldn't  tell  just  why. 
I  only  know  that  he  seemed  like  a  differ- 
ent man  to  me  when  I  saw  him  in  the 
presence  of  others,  although  he  always 
treated  me  in  the  same  kindly  way,  of 
course,  whether  we  were  alone  or  not. 
But  it  used  to  seem  to  me,  somehow,  as  if 
he  were  playing  a  part  before  the  others, 
"  keeping  up"  in  a  certain  way.  His  own 
words  would  come  ringing  back  to  me, 
over  and  over  again — "  No  human  soul, 

94 


A  Story  of  the  Past 


until  this  hour,  has  ever  seen  me  without 
the  mask  that  hides  my  life  sorrow." 
Was  it  indeed  a  mask  that  he  was  wear- 
ing, day  and  night,  an  impenetrable  mask, 
behind  which  no  eyes  but  mine  had  ever 
seen? 

I  would  sit  and  watch  him,  unnoticed, 
and  wonder  if  this  cool,  calm  man,  with 
a  face  as  unruffled  as  a  summer  sea,  could 
be  the  one  who  had  paced  up  and  down 
that  very  room,  only  a  short  week  ago, 
with  white  lips  quivering  in  passionate 
anguish.  Was  it  that  gay  voice,  lightly 
toying  with  some  idle  topic  of  the  day, 
that  had  almost  trembled  as  it  whispered, 
"  Poor  child !  Poor  little  Ruth !" 

No,  no.  It  was  not  he.  The  man  I 
had  seen  that  day  I  should  never  see 
again.  Had  he  not  told  me  so  ?  He  was 
gone  for  ever,  and  in  his  place  was  this 
other  —  cold,  proud,  passionless — who 
wore  the  mask  for  me  as  for  everyone  else. 

But  on  the  rare  occasions  when  we 
were  alone  together,  his  mood  would 
change,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  knew  my  friend 
as  he  really  was.  It  was  nothing  he  said 

95 


Ashes  of  Roses 


or  did,  no  lightest  word  or  look,  even, 
but  I  knew  instinctively  that  he  was  not 
the  same.  He  was  my  friend  again,  and 
I  was  the  little  girl  who  had  promised  to 
be  his  friend  as  well.  That  was  all.  But 
my  shyness  would  vanish,  and  I  would 
chatter  to  him  by  the  hour,  as  happy  as  a 
lark,  knowing  that  I  had  a  listener  who 
would  always  understand  and  be  in  touch 
with  my  every  mood.  There  was  a  con- 
geniality, a  spirit  of  ban  camaraderie  be- 
tween the  white-haired  old  man,  and  the 
bit  of  a  girl  scarce  reaching  to  his  shoul- 
der that  was  as  inexplicable  as  it  was 
sweet.  Uncle  used  to  ask  if  I  talked  pol- 
itics with  him,  or  he  talked  paper-dolls 
with  me,  and  Auntie  used  laughingly  to 
call  us  "  May  and  December,"  but  so  it 

always  ended,  somehow — in  a  laugh 

Thus  it  is  that  those  few  occasions  when 
we  were  alone  together,  stand  out  like 
bright  spots  in  my  memory,  and  I  can  re- 
call each  word,  almost,  that  was  said. 
And  I  am  thinking  now  of  an  afternoon 
about  ten  days  after  the  violets  came, 
when  Colonel  Dennington  had  invited  me 

96 


A  Story  of  the  Past 


to  ride  with  him  to  the  fort,  which  lay 
only  a  few  miles  outside  the  city. 

Of  course  I  was  delighted  to  go  any- 
where on  my  beautiful  new  horse,  and  we 
started  off  in  fine  spirits,  a  couple  of  the 
Colonel's  big  hunting-dogs  frisking  close 
beside  us. 

It  was  a  perfect  afternoon,  just  the  day 
for  a  ride,  and  we  gave  vent  to  our  pent- 
sp  feelings  by  a  glorious  race  over  the 
two  miles  of  hard  prairie  road.  The  si- 
lence was  unbroken  save  for  the  steady 
pat,  pat,  of  the  horses'  feet,  and  the  echo- 
ing answer  of  the  dogs  at  our  heels.  I 
felt  as  if  I  were  flying  through  the  air, 
and  could  have  screamed  aloud  in  very 
joy. 

"Wasn't  it  grand!"  I  found  breath  to 
cry  at  last,  as  we  reined  in  our  panting 
horses,  "  and  oh,  did  you  ever  have  such 
a  good  time!" 

He  turned  to  me  with  that  quick  smile 
which  I  had  learned  to  know  and  look 
for,  and  I  could  see  that  his  handsome 
face  was  flushed  a  little. 

"It    was    magnificent,"    he   said.     "I 

97 


Ashes  of  Roses 


haven't  had  such  a  spree  in  many  a  day. 
Why,  you  ride  like  a — like  a " 

"  Like  a  Portland  girl  who  isn't  used 
to  western  horses!"  I  finished,  gaily. 
"That's  about  the  truth,  and  I'll  save 
you  the  trouble  of  saying  it." 

"  It  isn't  fair  for  you  to  take  a  compli- 
ment out  of  my  mouth  like  that,  and  twist 
it  around  to  suit  yourself,"  returned  the 
Colonel,  good-naturedly.  "  Now  you  will 
never  know  what  an  extremely  nice  thing 
I  was  about  to  say." 

"Nevermind.  It  doesn't  matter.  We 
can  talk  any  time,  and  we  can't  always 
look  at  this  lovely,  lovely  prairie.  Do 
you  see  how  it  stretches  away  there,  al- 
ways going  on  and  on,  and  never  getting 
tired?  Doesn't  it  make  you  long  to  run 
after  it,  to  see  where  it's  going,  and  what's 
at  the  other  end?" 

"  No-o,  I  can't  say  that  it  does,  ex- 
actly," he  returned,  lazily  tapping  his 
boot  with  his  riding-whip.  "  I  believe  I 
am  very  well  contented  where  I  am  for 
the  present,  thank  you." 

"But  it  is  so  beautiful!"  I  cried,  still 
98 


A  Story  of  the  Past 


glowing  with  pleasure.  "  This  is  such  a 
good,  beautiful  world,  isn't  it!" 

As  I  spoke,  I  raised  the  riding-hat  which 
was  cutting  me  unmercifully  with  its 
heavy,  unaccustomed  touch,  and  ran  my 
gloved  fingers  through  the  hair  which  was 
lying  pressed  in  damp  curls  on  my  fore- 
head. 

"  It  is  indeed  a  beautiful  world,"  he  re- 
plied, "  and  has  many  beautiful  things  in 
it." 

"And  a  good  world,  too,"  I  insisted. 

"  But  of  that  I  am  not  quite  so  sure." 

"Well,  lam!"  I  cried,  half  passionately. 
"  It  must  be,  Colonel  Dennington.  It 
couldn't  be  so  beautiful,  and  not  be  good — 
I'm  sure  it  couldn't." 

"  So  you  think  everything  that  is  beau- 
tiful must  be  good,  little  friend  ?" 

"Yes.      Don't  you?" 

He  laughed  rather  bitterly. 

"  I  wish  I  could.     I  did — at  seventeen !" 

"But  it  must  be  good,"  I  repeated, 
anxiously.  "  How  would  it  dare  look  up, 
day  after  day,  to  a  sky  like  that — right 
up,  up  to  where  God  is,  if  it  were  not 

99 


Ashes  of  Roses 


good?  Wouldn't  you  think  it  would  be 
afraid,  almost?  Wouldn't  you  be  afraid 
to  look  up  to  Him,  if  you  were  not  good  ?" 

"  Afraid  of  what,  child?" 

"Why,  of  God.  He  is  so  good  Him- 
self, you  know,  so  all-perfect.  He  could 
not  bear  to  look  down,  either,  on  our 
great  world  with  His  pure  eyes,  if  it  were 
a  black  and  wicked  one." 

The  Colonel  turned  to  me  with  a  curious 
glance,  but  did  not  answer.  Our  horses 
were  taking  their  own  way,  now,  lazily 
moving  along  the  winding  road,  well  con- 
tent to  rest  a  bit  after  their  hot  race. 
The  dogs  scurried  hither  and  thither,  in 
mad  pursuit  of  a  stray  rabbit  or  of  some 
imp  of  a  prairie-dog  which  had  recklessly 
darted  across  our  path.  Not  a  sound  was 
heard  but  their  sharp,  excited  barks,  and 
the  slow  fall  of  the  horses'  feet. 

Had  I  ever  known  real  sunshine,  I 
wondered,  until  I  came  into  this  land 
where  it  shone  eternally!  How  hot  it 
was,  beating  down  upon  us  from  a  cloud- 
less sky,  and  yet  delightfully  tempered  by 
the  breeze  which  comes  to  that  country 


A  Story  01  the  Past 


with  the  first  breath  of  springtime.  And 
there,  far  away  as  the  eye  could  reach, 
lay  that  long  changeless,  ever-changing 
vista  of  golden  prairie-land,  tossed  into 
motionless  billows  in  every  direction, 
gaunt,  jagged  rocks  breaking  through  here 
and  there,  as  if  for  a  last  glimpse  of  the 
sky  before  the  next  wave  should  bury 
them  for  ever.  There  lay  the  quiet  earth, 
turning  its  brown  cheek  lovingly  to  the 
sun's  kisses,  while  far  away  lay  the  "cat- 
tle upon  a  thousand  hills,"  basking  drow- 
sily in  the  blue  distance. 

"All  His,"  I  whispered,  softly.  "All 
my  dear,  dear  Father's!" 

"Your  father's,  Ruth?" 

"  Yes.  It  all  belongs  to  Him,  you 
know.  He  lends  it  to  His  children  for  a 
while,  but  they  give  it  back  to  Him  by- 
and-by,  when  they  go  away  to  that  better 
country.  Oh,  Colonel  Dennington,  do 
you  suppose  there  could  be  a  better  land 
than  this?" 

"We  are  told  so,  little  one." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  I  try  to  imagine  what 
it  must  be,  but  I  can't.  It  worries  me 


Ashes  of  Roses 


sometimes  when  I  get  to  thinking  about 
it,  because  I — I  don't  want  to  go  to  that 
other  country  as  much  as  I'm  afraid  I 
ought.  This  one  is  so  sweet  and  bright, 
and — I  love  it  so!  I  can't  bear  to  think 
of  leaving  it,  I  have  been  so  happy  here." 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  You  must  be  happy, 
or  you  could  not  be  so  good." 

"I  am  happy,"  I  said,  simply.  "Who 
would  not  be,  among  such  beautiful 
things?  See  that  purple  away  off  there 
over  the  foot-hills.  Did  you  ever  see 
such  an  exquisite  colour?  It's  like  a 
great  amethyst,  set  in  the  gold  of  the 
sunshine." 

My  hand  trembled  as  I  pointed.  But 
he  only  looked  and  nodded. 

"Ah,  you  don't  see  it  as  I  do!"  I  cried, 
in  bitter  disappointment,  "  or  you  could 
never  sit  there  so  coldly  without  a  word." 

His  fine  head  dropped  on  his  breast. 

"That  is  true,  little  lady,"  he  said. 
"  There  is  no  use  trying  to  deny  it.  I 
don't  see  it  as  you  do — I  never  can, 
again." 

"  Never  again  ?"  I  repeated,  sorrowfully. 


A  Story  of  the  Past 


He  shook  his  head. 

"  The  purple  and  gold  are  there  still,  I 
know,  but  my  poor  blinded  eyes  cannot 
see  them.  They  cannot  even  see  the  sun- 
set any  more.  They  know  that  the  sun 
is  going  down,  because  people  tell  them 
so,  but  they  only  pray  that  they  may  close, 
and  be  at  rest,  just  for  a  little  while. 
They  are  so  very,  very  tired  of  looking 
and  watching  and  waiting." 

He  was  looking,  not  at  me,  but  straight 
ahead  of  him  across  the  yellow  prairie. 

"They  say  that  I  am  a  rich  man,"  he 
went  on,  "  and  I  suppose  I  am.  I  know 
there  is  many  a  man  who  would  think 
himself  lucky  to  change  places  with  me. 
But  I  tell  you,  as  heaven  is  my  witness,  I 
would  give  all  I  possess,  everything,  and 
give  it  gladly,  if  I  could  only  see  that  pur- 
ple hill  yonder,  as  you  see  it  to-day!  It 
is  nothing  to  me,  asbolutely  nothing — a 
mere  lump  on  the  earth's  surface,  a  mound 
of  grass,  of  rocks,  of  clay,  nothing  more. 
As  for  its  making  my  hand  tremble  and 
my  eyes  shine  like  yours — oh,  God,  will 
it  never  be  again  ?" 

103 


Ashes  of  Roses 


"  It  was  so  once  then  ?"  I  ventured. 
"  You  felt  as  I  do — once — long  ago  ?" 

"Yes,  but  so  long  ago!  It  seems  like 
a  dream  now.  Yet  the  time  was — you 
can  hardly  believe  it  to  see  me  now,  I 
know! — the  time  was  when  I,  too,  loved 
all  the  world  and  thought  it  beautiful. 
Everything  was  good  and  true,  and  I  re- 
joiced in  it  all,  and  thanked  God  for  it,  as 
you  do.  Ah,  poor  passionate  lad!  How 
little  he  dreamed  what  bitterness  that 
serene  smiling  world  was  holding  for  him !" 

"The  poor,  poor  fellow!"  I  cried, 
warmly.  "  I  am  so  sorry  for  him." 

But  the  Colonel  only  rode  on  in  silence. 

How  handsome  he  looked,  in  his  black 
riding-suit,  with  the  glint  of  silver  spurs 
at  his  heels!  His  face  had  grown  very 
pale  with  the  heat  of  the  day,  and  the 
white  hair  gleamed  lustrously  in  the  sun- 
shine. 

"Yes,"  he  went  on  slowly,  after  a  mo- 
ment. "  It  is  a  sad  story,  rather,  about 
this  poor  lad,  whom  everyone  else  thought 
so  rich.  Shall  I  tell  it  to  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  if  you  only  will !" 


A  Story  of  the  Past 


"  It  will  not  prove  very  interesting.  It 
is  very  short  and  simple,  but  you  shall 
have  it,  if  you  like.  It  was  more  than 
twenty  years  ago,  you  know,  long  before 
those  violet  eyes  of  yours  ever  opened  on 
this  world  at  all,  that  this  young  man 
lived,  who  had  everything  on  earth  to 
make  him  happy.  He  lived  in  a  beauti- 
ful home,  surrounded  by  friends  and  those 
nearer  and  dearer,  and  whenever  he 
mounted  his  black  horse,  it  did  not  matter 
in  which  direction  he  rode,  for  he  found 
himself  always  on  the  land  which  had  be- 
longed to  his  ancestors  for  generations, 
and  which  would  be  his,  too,  some  day. 
Do  you  wonder  that  as  the  young  man 
looked,  his  heart  beat  high  with  honest 
pride,  to  think  that  those  broad,  prosper- 
ous acres,  which  had  made  his  family's 
name  so  famous,  would  glow  and  bud  and 
bloom  for  him,  by-and-by  ?  And  do  you 
wonder  that  he  sometimes  bared  his  head 
to  the  Southern  sunshine  and  prayed  that 
the  God  who  had  intrusted  all  this  to  his 
care,  would  make  him  faithful,  and  worthy 
of  his  stewardship?  Ah,  those  were  the 
105 


Ashes  of  Roses 


days,  little  friend,  when  the  hills  were 
purple  indeed,  and  the  sunsets  crimson 
and  gold! 

"  And  then  as  he  rode  on,  many  a  time 
he  would  meet  some  small  piccaninny  on 
the  dusty  road,  and  on  asking  him  whose 
boy  he  was,  the  grinning  little  fellow 
would  answer,  'I's  yo'  boy,  Mas'r!' 
And  he  would  toss  the  child  a  coin  and 
ride  on,  remembering  that  God  had  in- 
trusted him  with  more  than  even  broad 
acres  of  which  to  give  an  account.  And 
when  he  would  reach  his  home  at  last, 
and  fling  the  reins  to  a  slave,  and  run  up 
the  broad  steps,  he  would  find  a  warm, 
loving  welcome  waiting  within — a  dear 
mother's  face  would  smile,  and  brothers' 
and  sisters'  gay  young  voices  would  min- 
gle with  his  own.  Then,  by-and-by, 
when  the  shadows  fell,  the  great  house 
would  ring  with  music  and  laughter,  and 
rich  gowns  would  rustle,  and  bright  eyes 
flash,  and  the  big  banquet-table  would 
groan  with  its  weight  of  good  cheer,  and 
the  days  and  nights  would  pass  like  a  fairy 
dream." 

106 


A  Story  of  the  Past 


He  stopped,  and  1  noticed  that  a  faint 
bit  of  colour  had  crept  into  the  white 
cheeks.  But  I  did  not  speak. 

"And  sometimes,"  he  went  on,  "some- 
times they  would  while  away  an  idle  day 
by  hunting,  and  then  there  would  be  gay 
times,  with  the  ladies  all  in  their  velvet 
habits  and  plumed  hats — such  beautiful 
girls,  little  one,  the  pride  of  all  the  South! 
And  away  they  would  dash  across  the 
country  like  a  flight  of  bright-winged 
birds,  while  always  at  the  head  of  the 
chase  rode  this  young  lad,  revelling  in 
his  strength  and  manhood,  and  defying 
the  most  reckless  to  overtake  him  on  his 
black  horse." 

There  was  just  the  least  bit  of  a  pause, 
and  then — 

"  Yes,  at  this  time  he  seemed  to  have 
everything  in  the  world  to  make  him 
happy,  for  above  all,  the  most  beautiful 
woman  he  had  ever  seen  had  promised  to 
become  his  wife." 

Unconsciously  my  heart  beat  faster. 
It  was  coming  now.  He  had  been  mar- 
ried, then,  after  all!  And  oh?  if  I  gould 

107 


Ashes  of  Roses 


only  have  known  that  "  most  beautiful 
woman  he  had  ever  seen!"  How  happy 
she  must  have  been,  and  how  proud  of 
her  handsome  gay  young  lover! 

I  clasped  my  hands  together  over  the 
loose-hanging  reins,  and  leaned  forward, 
my  lips  parted,  waiting  half  breathlessly 
to  catch  the  next  words. 

But  I  waited  in  vain. 

"Is  that  all?"  I  ventured  at  length. 

"  Nearly  all.  I  have  told  you  about  the 
happy  part  in  his  life,  when  he  could  see 
the  hills  as  you  do,  you  know.  There  is 
another  part,  not  quite  so  pleasant,  when 
the  purple  and  gold  faded  quite  away,  and 
all  his  money  could  never  bring  it  back, 
— even  for  one  little  moment.  .You  do 
not:  care  to  hear  of  that  part,  gentle 
lady?" 

"Ah,  but  I  do,"  I  cried.  "Indeed  I 
do.  That  is,  if  you  want  to  tell  me?" 

"You  are  a  dear,  sympathetic  little 
friend,"  he  said,  turning  his  dark  eyes  full 
upon  me  for  the  first  time  since  he  began 
his  story.  "  I  appreciate  your  kindly  in- 
terest, but  what  right  have  I  to  sadden 

108 


A  Story  of  the  Past 


your  happy  young  heart  with  his  sorrows? 
Trouble  enough  will  come  to  you  in  time, 
why  should  you  bear  other  people's,  too?" 

"  But  what  is  a  friend  for,  if  not  to  lis- 
ten and  sympathise  ?  If  it  helps  you  to 
tell  me,  if  it  will  lift  from  your  poor  heart 
one  bit  of  the  burden  that  lies  there,  I 
shall  be  only  too  happy  to  hear  whatever 
you  have  to  tell  me.  I  can  do  so  little  to 
help  you  " — I  hurried  on,  "  I  am  so  foolish 
and  so  weak — I  cannot  say  anything  wise 
or  helpful.  Let  me  do  this  one  thing, 
let  me  listen.  And  if  I  cannot  do  more, 
I  can  at  least  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am, 
and  how  my  heart  aches  for  you  in  your 
trouble.  Won't  you  let  me?" 

"  Do  you  mean  it,  little  one?" 

"Indeed  I  do." 

"  Heaven  bless  you  for  those  words,  the 
sweetest  I  have  heard  in  many  a  weary 
year!  I  believe  you,  when  you  say  you 
want  to  help  me,  and  you  have  done  so 
already,  more  times  than  you  can  ever 
know." 

"I?  I  have,  helped  you,  already?  I 
wonder  how!/' 


Ashes  of  Roses 


"  I  will  tell  you.  Until  you  flitted  into 
my  life,  one  summer  night,  with  God's 
own  sunshine  smiling  through  your  in- 
nocent eyes,  I  had  thought  that  true, 
womanly  women,  the  kind  for  whom  a 
man  might  shed  his  heart's  blood,  and 
count  it  well  lost,  were  all  gone  out  of 
the  world.  You  have  taught  me  that 
one,  at  least,  still  lives.  Do  you  see  now 
how  you  have  helped  me?" 

But  I  only  hung  my  head,  stupidly 
enough,  and  could  not  think  of  a  word  to 
say. 

"I  tell  you  this,  not  to  distress  you," 
he  went  on,  "but  simply  to  show  in  what 
way  you  have  made  life  better  and 
brighter  for  your  old  friend.  He  thanks 
you  for  it,  more  than  he  can  say,  for 
words  are  cold  and  weak,  sometimes. 
But  come !  Our  talk  seems  to  have  drifted 
into  quite  a  serious  strain  this  afternoon, 
has  it  not?  Suppose  we  have  another 
royal  gallop,  now  our  horses  are  rested — 
or  do  you  still  wish  me  to  finish  my  little 
story  of  the  poor  young  man  ?  Are  you 
not  tired  of  him  already?" 


A  Story  of  the  Past 


My  eyes  must  have  looked  my  answer 
most  eloquently. 

"  You  still  wish  to  hear  it,  then  ?" 

"Yes,  please — if  you  still  wish  to  tell 
me." 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  all,  quite.  I  cannot 
— but  never  mind.  Where  was  I  when 
we  left  off?  What  was  I  saying?" 

"  The  most  beautiful  woman  he  had 
ever  seen  had  promised  to  become  his 
wife!  You  stopped  there,  I  think." 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  start. 

"Did  I  say  that?" 

I  nodded. 

"  Ah,  well,"  he  raised  his  hat,  and  tossed 
the  heavy  hair  from  his  forehead  with  the 
old  gesture.  "  If  I  said  it,  I  must  let  it 
stand,  I  suppose.  It  was  true.  She  was 
beautiful ;  and — and  she  made  this  young 
man  very  happy  by  telling  him  that  she 
loved  him,  and  would  marry  him,  some 
day.  Nothing  so  very  strange  in  that, 
was  there  ?  But  you  remember  I  told  you 
in  the  first  place  that  my  story  was  but  a 
simple  one  at  best — hardly  worth  the 
telling." 

in 


Ashes  of  Roses 


The  reins  fell  idly  on  his  horse's  neck, 
and  the  Colonel  was  looking  straight 
ahead  of  him,  with  a  face  far  more  peace- 
ful and  calm  than  my  own. 

"Not  long  after  that,"  he  went  on, 
slowly,  "  the  war  broke  out,  and  this 
young  man,  like  everyone  else,  left  his 
home  and  all  that  was  dearest  to  him,  to 
do  his  duty  like  a  true  son  of  the  South. 
Never  mind  whether  he  was  right  or 
wrong.  He  fought  for  what  he  thought 
was  the  right,  and  he  fought  with  all  his 
soul  and  strength.  How  his  heart  beat, 
as  he  kissed  his  mother  good-bye  that  day 
in  early  spring  time,  fifteen  years  ago,  and 
threw  himself  upon  his  black  horse,  and 
rode  off  to  join  the  ranks  of  his  fellow- 
patriots!  'It  won't  be  long,  mother,'  he 
had  said,  as  she  clung  to  him  in  a  last  em- 
brace, and  buried  her  face  on  the  gray- 
coated  shoulder.  'We'll  whip  the  Yankees 
in  sixty  days,  and  I'll  be  home  again  be- 
fore you've  had  time  to  miss  me.  Don't 
cry,  mother  dear!'  And  so  he  rode  away, 
followed  by  his  faithful  body-servant,  a 
slave  who  had  been  his  all  his  life  long. 


A  Story  of  the  Past 


At  the  end  of  the  avenue,  where  the  road 
wound  around  the  hill,  he  turned  in  his 
saddle  for  a  last  look  at  the  dear  old 
home,  a  last  wave  of  the  gray  cap  to  the 
weeping  little  group  on  the  piazza..  A 
lump  rose  in  his  own  throat  as  he  looked, 
but  he  choked  it  back.  'It  won't  be 
long,' he  said.  'God  bless  them  all!  I'll 
be  back  in  sixty  days. ' ' 

The  Colonel's  voice  faltered. 

"  And  did  he  come  back  in  sixty  days?" 
I  whispered. 

"  When  he  rode  up  that  avenue  again 
not  sixty  days  but  four  years  later,  with 
the  scars  of  war  on  that  old  ragged  uni- 
form, and  a  sad,  heavy  heart  beating 
inside,  no  dear,  white-pillared,  ivy-grown 
house  met  his  longing  eyes.  The  sun 
shone  hotly  down  upon  a  pile  of  charred 
and  blackened  ruins.  That  was  all." 

"  All  ?"  I  echoed.  "  Was  it  all  literally 
gone, — his  beautiful  home?" 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "Not  one  stone  was 
left  upon  another.  Ruin  and  desolation 
reigned  everywhere.  Even  the  great 
trees,  his  mother's  pride  all  through  her 

113 


Ashes  of  Roses 


life,  stood  gaunt  and  charred  and  black- 
ened, like  grim  skeletons  to  mock  the 
home-comer.  They  told  the  story  only 
too  plainly, — of  the  enemy's  hand  laid  on 
the  whole  place  in  wantonness  and  de- 
struction. Slowly  he  dismounted,  this  old 
young  man  with  the  haggard  face,  and 
slowly,  step  by  step,  he  dragged  himself 
toward  the  spot  that  had  been  for  many 
years  his  home. 

"And  this  was  his  home-coming!  Oh, 
the  loneliness  of  it  all,  the  hopelessness! 
How  can  I  tell  you  of  that  hour,  child  ? — 
that  hour  when,  in  the  first  bitterness  of 
his  grief,  he  threw  himself  face  down 
upon  the  tangled  grass,  in  utter  abandon, 
praying  God  to  seek  out  and  visit  with 
His  own  swift  vengeance  the  cowards  who 
had  done  the  deed.  The  sun  blazed 
down  mercilessly  upon  his  bare  head  and 
on  the  worn  gray  cap  that  had  fallen 
among  the  weeds  beside  him,  making  the 
shining  letters  'C.  S.  A.'  dance  before  his 
sight  in  mocking  brilliancy.  And  then 
he  closed  his  eyes,  this  man  whom  his 
country  had  called  brave,  in  its  ignorance, 

114 


A  Story  of  the  Past 


and  prayed  only  that  he  might  die,  then 
and  there,  upon  the  one  spot  on  earth 
that  he  loved.  What  had  he  to  live  for 
now?" 

I  did  not  look  up  when  he  paused. 
But  he  hurried  on,  almost  immediately, 
like  one  who  has  a  task  to  finish,  and  will 
not  shrink,  even  to  the  bitter  end. 

"  How  long  he  lay  there,  he  never 
knew.  The  sun  went  down  in  all  its 
glory,  and  the  kindly  hand  of  the  dark- 
ness hid  those  cruel  letters  from  his  eyes. 
There  was  no  moon,  but  the  pitying  stars 
stole  out,  one  by  one,  and  watched  with 
him  all  through  that  terrible  night.  It 
seemed  to  him  at  last,  that  he  had  always 
been  lying  there,  somehow,  stiff  and 
numb,  with  his  head  buried  low  in  the 
grass,  that  his  whole  past  life  had  been  a 
dream,  as  vague  as  it  was  beautiful,  and 
this — the  awakening." 

"  But  there  was  no  one  ? — your  mother  ?" 
I  faltered. 

"My  mother?"  he  spoke  the  words 
lingeringly,  as  if  they  were  sweet  on  his 
lips,  and  yet  strangely  unfamiliar,  too, 

115 


Ashes  of  Roses 


"  my  mother,  thank  God,  was  beyond  the 
reach  of  misery  like  mine,  asleep  in  the 
little  churchyard." 

"And  the  rest,  your  brothers,  sisters?" 
"  Gone,  too,  little  one.  My  two 
brothers  had  long  ago  laid  down  their 
lives  for  the  dear  lost  cause.  They  rode 
side  by  side  with  me,  through  the  thunder 
and  smoke  of  many  a  battle,  and  fought 
proudly  to  the  end,  but — Death  loves  a 
shining  mark,  you  know.  When  the  dust 
of  the  battle-field  had  cleared  away  one 
sad  August  morning,  we  found  that  they 
had  met  their  conqueror  at  last,  and  were 
lying  calm  and  still,  with  upturned  faces. 
And  yet  the  brother  left  behind  lived  to 
see  the  day  when  he  envied  them  their 
lot,  and  called  it  indeed,  'the  better 
part. '  He  lived  to  see  an  officer's  stripes 
upon  his  arm,  to  hear  men  call  him  great, 
but  what  did  that  amount  to'  An  empty 
honour,  when  the  cause  for  which  he  had 
given  up  so  much  was  a  lost  one,  and 
worse  than  lost — its  very  name  a  con- 
tempt among  all  the  nations  of  the  earth!" 
Oh,  the  unutterable  sorrow  in  his  white 
116 


A  Story  of  the  Past 


face!  Did  the  wound  still  rankle  so 
bitterly,  after  all  these  years? 

"And  my  sister,  dear  little  Litz,"  he 
went  on,  a  new  tenderness  creeping  into 
his  voice  for  an  instant.  "  She  had  mar- 
ried a  year  before,  they  told  me,  and  been 
laid  to  sleep  in  the  same  grave  with  her 
little  one.  She  was  always  such  a  wee, 
dainty  thing,  a  mere  baby  herself, — it 
took  me  a  long,  long  time  to  think  of  her 
as  dead.  I  could  not  believe  them  when 
they  told  me  first — it  seemed  impossible 
that  she,  too,  had  gone  out  of  my  life, 
that  little  sister!" 

"  But  there  was  no  one  left,  no  one  at 
all?  Nobody  in  the  whole  world?" 

"Nobody  in  the  whole  world,"  he  an- 
swered, "  except  the  slave-boy  who  had 
gone  with  me  through  the  war.  He  came 
to  me  that  night,  with  the  tears  stream- 
ing down  his  black  cheeks.  'Let's  go 
away,  Mas'r  Jack,'  he  sobbed;  'let's 
go '  " 

Mr.  Dennington's  voice  faltered,  and 
he  stopped  abruptly. 

"  But — but—-"  I  said  at  last,  half  per- 

117 


Ashes  of  Roses 


plexed — "  there  was  that  most  beautiful 
woman  you  had  ever  seen,  your — your 
wife,  you  know.  She  wasn't  dead,  too, 
was  she  ?" 

For  a  time  he  did  not  answer,  and  I 
began  to  think  he  had  not  heard.  Then 
he  said,  slowly,  without  a  quiver  of  a 
muscle  in  his  stern  face: 

"Yes.     She  was  dead,  too." 

I  bowed  my  face  upon  my  hands.  So 
she  was  dead,  too,  poor  beautiful  girl! 
Was  there  nothing  left  in  this  lonely 
man's  life? 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry  for  her,  for  you 
both,"  I  whispered.  "  To  think  that  you 
had  to  come  home  after  those  four  dread- 
ful years  and  find  her  gone  too!" 

Colonel  Dennington  stooped  to  adjust 
a  buckle  on  his  stirrup  that  suddenly 
needed  attention. 

"When  was  it  that  she  died?"  I  went 
on.  "Was  it  long  after  the  war  began?" 

"  No.  It  was  before  the  war  broke  out 
that  she — died,"  said  Colonel  Dennington. 
"  Some  years  before.  Two  or  three,  I 
think." 

118 


A  Story  of  the  Past 


Two  or  three,  I  think !  What  an  ex- 
traordinary man !  And  there  was  some- 
thing in  his  voice  that  made  me  glance  up 
at  him  quickly  from  under  the  lashes  still 
tear-wet  over  the  memory  of  that  gentle 
girl.  But  though  he  was  white  even  to 
the  lips,  his  face  was  as  placid  as  a  sum- 
mer's day. 

How  I  longed  to  ask  another  question, 
just  one  more!  But  I  did  not  dare,  after 
a  single  look  into  those  cold  dark  eyes. 
As  I  think  it  all  over  now,  I  am  absolutely 
certain  in  my  own  mind  that  if  I  had 
opened  my  lips  then,  had  put  but  one 
question  to  that  man  as  he  looked  that 
day,  I  should  never  have  been  sitting 
here,  writing  these  reminiscences — simply 
because  there  would  have  been  none  to 
write.  The  story  of  my  strange  friend 
would  have  ended  on  the  spot,  and  we 
might  have  dug  a  grave  then  and  there 
and  buried  for  ever  our  dead  friendship. 
I  write  this  now,  with  the  worldly  experi- 
ence of  many  an  extra  year  on  my  shoul- 
ders, and  the  knowledge  which  those 
same  years  have  brought  me  of  the  char- 

119 


Ashes  of  Roses 


acter  of  the  man.  But  though  it  only 
came  into  my  head  that  afternoon  in  the 
shape  of  a  vague,  unworded  intuition,  it 
was  a  God-given  one,  and  saved  the 
friendship  by  that  time  grown  very  dear 
to  us  both. 

So  we  rode  on,  in  utter  silence.  The 
sinking  sun  flashed  redly  in  our  faces,  and 
we  turned  our  horses'  heads,  as  with  one 
accord,  and  started  for  home.  Our  des- 
tination— the  fort — was  forgotten.  The 
prairie  stretched  in  mellow  ripples  at  our 
feet,  each  undulation  growing  more  dis- 
tinct as  the  shadows  lengthened.  The 
dogs,  with  drooping  heads,  and  lolling 
tongues,  had  had  their  surfeit  of  rabbits 
at  last,  and  were  trotting  quite  soberly 
and  contentedly  at  our  heels. 

As  for  the  Colonel,  he  had  grown  as 
silent  as  I, — a  little  more  stately  than 
ever,  a  trifle  more  proudly  erect,  that  was 
all.  Would  he  never  speak  to  me  again,  I 
wondered  ? 

It  was  only  when  we  reached  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town  that  he  turned  with  the 
old  smile.  We  were  passing  a  florist's 


A  Story  of  the  Past 


greenhouse,  a  tiny  affair,  but  crowded,  I 
could  see  through  the  windows,  with 
bright  and  beautiful  blossoms. 

"  Would  you  like  to  go  in  and  look  at 
the  flowers?"  he  said,  reining  in  his  horse 
as  he  spoke.  "We  have  plenty  of  time 
before  sunset,  and  my  friend  has  a  collec- 
tion well  worth  seeing,  I  assure  you.  You 
like  flowers  well  enough  to  take  the 
trouble  to  dismount,  perhaps?" 

A  quick  glance  was  my  only  answer. 
He  slipped  to  the  ground  at  once,  came  to 
my  horse's  side,  and  held  out  his  hands. 
To  dismount,  however,  was  a  more  serious 
undertaking  on  my  part — for  a  riding-skirt 
was  a  new  and  bewildering  piece  of 
mechanism  to  me — but  I  reached  terra- 
firma  at  last,  and  we  entered  the  green- 
house together. 

Colonel  Dennington  appeared  to  be  a 
well-known  and  welcome  visitor,  for  the 
old  lady  who  was  in  charge  within — a 
motherly-looking  old  soul  with  a  checked 
apron  as  big  as  herself — bobbed  a  series 
of  profound  curtsies,  and  expressed  her- 
self in  broken  English,  as  very  much  dis- 


Ashes  of  Roses 


tressed  that  her  husband  was  not  present 
to  receive  us. 

"That's  all  right,  madam,"  said  the 
Colonel,  lifting  his  hat.  "Don't  let  that 
trouble  you,  for  we  just  want  to  glance 
through  the  greenhouse  a  few  moments, 
if  you  have  no  objection." 

Whereupon  she  at  once  assured  us  that 
she  was  only  too  delighted 

"  And  you  haven't  a  pair  of  scissors  you 
can  lend  us  ?"  mildly  suggested  the  Colonel. 

Of  course  she  had — two  pair,  if  the 
Colonel  wished,  and  he  accordingly  took 
two  pair,  slipping  into-  her  hand  at  the 
same  time  something  that  sounded  sus- 
piciously like  the  crisp  crackle  of  a  new 
greenback. 

"There!"  he  whispered  to  me  a  mo- 
ment later,  as  we  were  strolling  together 
through  the  hot-house,  dripping  with 
freshness,  and  heavy  with  a  thousand  sub- 
tile perfumes.  "  How  do  you  like  this 
after  the  wild,  bleak  prairies?  Eh,  little 
lady  ?" 

"Oh,  I  like  it!"  I  cried  in  delight. 
"Isn't  that  smell  just  delicious,  though!" 


A  Story  of  the  Past 


For  we  were  standing  among  the  roses, 
and  the  great  luscious  red  and  pink  and 
yellow  beauties  hung  their  sweet  heads  on 
every  side,  and  peeped  shyly  at  us  from 
behind  their  shining  leaves. 

"It  is  indeed  delicious,"  he  answered, 
smiling  down  into  my  eager,  happy  face. 
"But  you  must  do  more  than  just  look 
and  smell,  you  know,  for  we  haven't  long 
to  stay.  There  is  a  dear  little  one  right 
beside  you,  now,  wondering  why  in  the 
world  you  don't  pick  it.  Don't  you  think 
it  just  a  bit  mean  of  you  to  keep  it  wait- 
ing so  long?" 

"  Shall  I  truly  pick  it  ?"  I  said,  still 
hesitating. 

In  answer  he  quietly  reached  up  and 
cut  it  himself  with  his  scissors. 

"No,  not  this  one,"  he  said,  "but  all 
the  rest,  if  you  will.  Here  are  the  scis- 
sors— and  remember  that  the  more  roses 
you  take  the  better  I  shall  like  it." 

He  held  up  the  pink  blossom  he  had 
just  cut  by  its  long  stem,  and  lightly 
brushed  it  against  my  cheek  as  he  spoke. 

"  I   don't  know  which "  he   began, 

123 


Ashes  of  Roses 


but  interrupted  himself  with,  "  Here,  take 
the  rose,  Miss  Ruth,  before  I  lose  my  head 
entirely  and  say  something  I'll  be  sorry 
for.  And  now,  to  work,  for  we  have  only 
a  moment  to  stay." 

"How  good  you  are!"  I  said,  grate- 
fully. "  Shall  I  really  take  all  I  want?" 

"  Indeed  you  shall,  every  one  in  the 
greenhouse,  if  you  like." 

So  without  further  hesitation  or  remark 
I  set  to  work — what  girl  wouldn't? — and 
carefully  selected  a  dozen  or  so  of  the 
handsomest  ones  I  could  see.  The  Colo- 
nel had  meanwhile  wandered  off  by  him- 
self, returning  presently  with  so  large  a 
bunch  that  the  flowers  fell  from  his  hands 
at  every  step. 

"Come,  come,"  he  cried  gaily,  with  a 
glance  at  my  little  bouquet.  "  What  have 
you  been  doing  with  yourself  since  I've 
gone?  You've  not  worked  half  fast 
enough!  Why  don't  you  work,  eh?" 

"I  did  work,"  I  protested. 

"Work!  You  don't  know  what  the 
word  means!  Hold  these  while  I  show 
you,"  and  he  laid  his  fragrant  burden  in 

124 


A  Story  of  the  Past 


my  hands,  and  fell  to  cutting  with  an 
enthusiasm  that  made  the  bright  heads 
fall  in  a  shower  around  us.  Both  my 
arms  were  soon  full,  even  the  skirt  of  my 
riding-habit  was  called  into  requisition, 
and  he  was  still  at  work  when  I  laid  an 
authoritative  hand  on  his  arm  and  dragged 
him  away. 

"You  mustn't!"  I  cried,  laughing  and 
scolding.  "You  shan't  cut  another  one! 
What  will  the  poor  man  say  when  he  gets 
back,  and  finds  them  all  gone  ?  And  how 
are  we  ever  to  get  them  home,  I'd  like  to 
know?" 

"Bless  my  soul,  I  never  thought  of 
that!"  he  exclaimed  in  dismay.  "We'll 
have  to  get  them  home,  somehow,  won't 
we  ?  Perhaps  we  have  taken  enough, 
child." 

"I  should  think  we  had!  Shall  we 
charter  a  dray,  please,  or  load  down  the 
horses  with  them,  and  walk  ourselves?" 

It  ended  in  our  packing  them  away  in 
two  large  boxes,  which  the  check-aproned 
woman  spirited  up  for  the  emergency,  and 
we  rode  merrily  off,  the  Colonel  insisting 

125 


Ashes  of  Roses 


upon  carrying  both  boxes  behind  him  on 
his  saddle. 

"It  makes  me  think  of  old  times,"  he 
said,  as  he  strapped  them  on.  "We'll 
make  believe  that  they  are  knapsacks,  you 
know,  and  that  you  and  I  are  two  soldiers 
starting  off  for  the  war." 

What  a  queer  combination  he  was,  to 
be  sure!  Sometimes  so  gay  and  happy, 
entering  into  a  child's  life  and  thought 
with  almost  childlike  comprehension,  and 
the  next  moment  a  man,  cold,  distant, 
forbidding,  with  a  hard,  steely  gleam  in 
his  eyes  that  kept  even  the  most  sympa- 
thising friend  at  a  distance.  Yet  still — I 
liked  him,  "for  a'  that,"  and  we  trotted 
home  right  merrily,  laughing  and  chatting 
to  our  hearts'  content. 

It  did  not  take  us  long  to  reach  the 
house  after  we  had  once  entered  the  town, 
and  after  we  had  dismounted  the  Colonel 
walked  to  the  door  with  me  to  help  me 
with  the  roses. 

"And  take  the  covers  off,  please,"  I 
said.  "  The  poor,  dear  things  have  been 
shut  up  too  long  already."  He  obeyed, 

126 


A  Story  of  the  Past 


and  set  the  boxes  down  in  the  doorway 
for  me.  I  ran  my  hands  down  to  the 
elbow,  from  pure  luxuriousness,  and  drew 
out  a  great,  glowing  mass  of  them. 
"  They're  so  sweet !"  I  said,  burying  my 
face  deep  in  the  fragrance,  "  and  I've  had 
such  a  good  time!" 

"I  am  delighted  to  hear  it, "  he  an- 
swered. "  And  so  have  I.  But  we  didn't 
see  the  fort  after  all,  did  we  ?" 

"Why,  I  forgot  all  about  it!  It  went 
right  out  of  my  head  altogether." 

"And  mine,  too.  But  we  will  try  it 
again  some  other  day,  shall  we  not  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes.  And  we  won't  forget  it  an- 
other time — it  shall  be  fort,  pure  and 
simple,  next  time,  no  stories  nor  flowers 
nor  anything  else  mixed  in.  Oh,  I  almost 
forgot — "  and  I  glanced  slyly  up  at  him. 
"  Thank  you  for  the  roses,  Colonel  Den- 
nington." 

"  Don't  thank  me,  child.  I  only  wish 
each  one  would  live  as  long  as  my  remem- 
brance of  this  day,  and  the  pleasure  you 
have  given  me.  And  now,  good-night, 
for  I  mustn't  keep  you  standing." 

127 


Ashes  of  Roses 


I  laid  my  hand  very  frankly  in  the  one 
he  was  holding  out,  and  smiled  up  into 
the  flushed  face. 

"  I  am  glad  if  I  have  made  you  happy," 
I  answered,  simply.  "Good-night." 

But  the  smile  somehow  died  out  of  my 
eyes  as  from  the  darkened  doorway  I 
watched  him  ride  away.  He  turned  at 
the  corner  of  the  street  to  lift  his  hat  once 
more,  and  as  he  disappeared  from  sight 
the  words  came  echoing  back  to  me,  over 
and  over  again,  "  The  most  beautiful 
woman  he  had  ever  seen  had  promised  to 
become  his  wife — "  And  she  was  dead, 
too! 

I  stumbled  into  the  dim  hall,  tripping 
over  my  riding-skirt,  and  scattering  the 
roses  recklessly  over  the  shining  floor. 
Shall  I  confess  that  as  I  stooped  to  pick 
them  up,  something  not  unlike  a  tear  fell 
quietly  upon  their  upturned  faces? 

128 


V 

A    SIMPLE    SERVICE 

AS  I  opened  my  eyes  the  next  morning, 
and  lay  for  an  instant  in  dreamy 
half  consciousness,  hovering  between  earth 
and  slumberland,  the  sound  of  church- 
bells  mingled  with  the  birds'  song  outside 
my  window,  and  I  knew  that  it  was 
Sunday. 

The  hands  of  my  clock  pointed  at  seven, 
warning  me  that  the  bells  must  be  ringing 
for  Early  Communion,  a  service  of  all 
others  that  I  loved  the  best.  The  house 
was  intensely  still,  and  I  knew  that  I  was 
the  only  living  soul  awake  within  its  shel- 
ter. It  was  a  sweet  thought,  that  I  could 
not  help  enjoying,  in  some  unexplained 
way,  and  I  lay  very  contentedly  for  a  long 
time,  watching  the  white  curtains  stir  in 
the  morning  breeze,  and  looking  up  at  the 
bit  of  blue  sky  where  God  was.  "  God 

129 


Ashes  of  Roses 


and  I  alone  together  —  everyone  else 
asleep,"  I  whispered,  softly,  and  the  near- 
ness of  companionship  with  Him  filled  me 
with  exquisite  happiness. 

I  think  my  religion  at  that  time  must 
have  been  wonderfully  simple  and  child- 
like. It  might  have  been  briefly  summed 
up  in  this — that  God  was  my  Father,  that 
He  loved  me  and  had  given  His  life  for 
me,  and  that  I  loved  Him,  too,  more  than 
anything  else  in  the  world.  Also,  that  if 
I  tried  hard  to  please  Him,  by  living  a 
gentle,  womanly,  unselfish  life,  He  would 
take  me  to  heaven  after  a  while,  to  be 
with  Him  always.  That  was  the  extent 
of  my  doctrine.  The  knotty,  theological 
questions  that  had  been  for  generations 
puzzling  older  and  wiser  heads  than  mine, 
did  not  trouble  me  at  all.  "  God  knows," 
I  used  to  say.  "  What  difference  does  it 
make  whether  I  know  or  not?"  So  I  let 
them  all  go  by,  simply  happy  in  the 
knowledge  that  God  loved  me,  and  I 
loved  Him. 

Perhaps  the  sturdy,  unquestioning  char- 
acter of  my  Puritan  ancestors  had  crept 

130 


A  Simple  Service 


into  my  nature  with  their  blood.  Perhaps 
it  was  due  more  directly  to  the  earnest 
teachings  of  my  sweet  beautiful  mother, 
and  the  simple,  uneventful  life  I  had 
always  led  at  home.  I  do  not  try  to  ac- 
count for  it — I  only  know  that  it  was  so, 
that  my  faith  was  as  pure,  as  unaffected 
as  that  of  any  little  child  who  points  with 
chubby  fingers  to  the  stars,  and  lisps  the 
name  of  God. 

I  could  not  tell  you  all  the  thoughts 
that  flitted  into  my  mind  that  morning — I 
would  not  if  I  could.  A  young  girl's 
fancies  are  the  most  sacred  things  on 
earth,  not  to  be  paraded  before  even 
those  who  know  her  best,  and  least  of  all 
recalled  in  cold  black-and-white  when  the 
girl  herself,  mayhap,  is  a  faded  woman, 
who  sees  life  with  different  eyes.  The 
eyes  may  be  no  clearer  now,  in  searching 
after  the  divine  Truth — not  so  clear,  per- 
haps, for  we  are  looking  through  the  mist 
of  tears  that  the  years  will  bring,  alas!  to 
dim  our  vision. 

It  is  enough  to  say  that  I  lay  there  for 
a  long  time,  listening  and  dreaming,  the 


Ashes  of  Roses 


gentle  voice  of  my  mother  mingling  oddly 
with  the  birds'  low  twittering,  and  the 
monotonous  cadence  of  the  church-bells. 
Yes,  I  would  go  to  the  blessed  Commun- 
ion. Who  could  tell  but  that  she,  too,  in 
that  far-away  home,  would  be  kneeling 
at  that  very  hour,  worshipping  with  me  at 
the  same  footstool  ? 

I  rose  and  dressed  hastily,  stole  softly 
downstairs  and  out  of  the  sleeping  house. 
As  I  passed  the  parlour  door,  a  glimpse  of 
pink  roses  caught  my  eye,  overflowing 
from  the  bowl  in  which  I  had  placed  them 
the  night  before,  and  I  could  not  resist 
slipping  into  the  room,  and  stealing  just 
one  of  them,  to  fasten  in  the  folds  of  my 
dress. 

"  Don't  you  want  to  come  to  church 
with  me,  little  darling?"  I  whispered, 
pressing  my  lips  to  its  fresh  smooth  cheek 
as  we  went  out  into  the  sunshiny  world 
together.  "  It's  much  better  than  staying 
in  a  dark  old  house,  I  think." 

And  I  did  not  have  cause  to  change  my 
opinion.  The  walk  was  not  a  long  one, 
but  it  seemed  marvellously  full  of  beauti- 

132 


A  Simple  Service 


ful  things  to  me,  at  that  early  hour,  with 
the  dew  still  clinging  to  each  bit  of  grass 
and  prairie-flowers,  and  I  was  almost  sorry 
when  I  reached  at  last  the  tiny  brown  nest 
of  a  church,  and  entered  the  cool  darkness 
within.  Service  had  just  begun,  so  I 
slipped  into  an  empty  seat  near  the  door, 
and  bowing  my  head  with  the  others,  for- 
got the  sunshine  without,  and  everything 
but  God  and  my  mother  and  the  dear 
ones  at  home. 

It  was  a  simple  service,  without  even 
the  organ  to  add  to  its  solemnity,  but  it 
was  a  most  happy,  restful  one  to  me,  as  I 
knelt  with  quietly-clasped  hands,  com- 
muning with  my  Father.  The  delicate 
breath  of  the  rose  at  my  throat  lingered 
on  the  air,  as  if  loath  to  leave  the  hal- 
lowed place,  and  the  low  murmured  re- 
sponse of  the  worshippers  rose  and  fell 
like  distant  music  on  my  ear.  I  was  very 
near  to  God  that  morning,  very  near  the 
great  White  Throne,  and  when  it  was  all 
over  at  last  and  I  rose  from  my  knees,  I 
could  not  feel  it  in  my  heart  to  go  away 
at  once.  I  could  not  bear  to  think  of 

i33 


Ashes  of  Roses 


going  out  from  that  holy  place  where  God 
had  been  so  near,  into  the  glare  of  day, 
to  go  home  to  Aunt  Kate  and  rolls  and 
coffee,  and  talk  of  everything  and  any- 
thing but  of  the  one  subject  that  lay  most 
near.  It  seemed  a  sacrilege,  almost.  I 
could  not  bring  myself  to  do  it — yet.  I 
would  wait  until  that  great  white  dove  of 
Peace  which  had  come  to  me  with  the  last 
words  of  the  benediction  should  fold  his 
shining  wings  a  little,  and  find  his  resting- 
place. 

So  I  let  the  others  go  away,  and  they 
passed  down  the  aisle,  whispering  and 
chatting,  and  out  of  the  door,  with  hardly 
a  glance  at  the  still,  gray-gowned  figure 
all  alone  in  the  pew.  I  took  up  my 
prayer-book  and  waited  until  everyone 
was  gone,  even  the  sexton,  who  went 
leaving  the  door  open,  as  I  knew  he  would 
for  the  later  service. 

A  deep  hush  seemed  to  have  fallen  upon 
everything.  We  were  alone  again,  God 
and  I — no,  not  alone  either,  for  in  the  very 
back  seat  in  the  farthest  corner,  quite  in 
shadow,  I  saw  the  figure  of  a  man.  It 


A  Simple  Service 


startled  me  uncomfortably  at  first,  but  as 
I  looked  more  closely  I  saw  that  he  was 
sitting  very  still,  and  made  up  my  mind 
that  he  must  be  asleep,  some  stranger 
who  had  wandered  in  and  succumbed  to 
the  darkness  and  the  quiet.  "  Poor  fel- 
low!" I  said  to  myself,  ''he  seems  tired 
out."  And  with  that  I  turned  my  head 
away,  and  had  soon  forgotten  him. 

But  when  I  rose  to  go,  some  time  later, 
to  my  surprise  he  rose  also,  without  a 
moment's  hesitation  and  came  forward. 

"Colonel  Dennington!"  I  cried.  "You 
here?" 

"  Yes,"  he  said. 

"  I  really  didn't  know  you,"  I  went  on, 
"  away  off  in  that  funny  little  dark  corner. 
How  do  you  feel  this  lovely  morning  ?  and 
didn't  you  enjoy  the  service?" 

But  he  took  no  notice  of  the  hand  I  was 
holding  out  in  friendly  greeting.  He  did 
not  even  look  at  me. 

"Will — will  you  sit  down?"  he  said, 
motioning  me  into  one  of  the  empty  pews. 
"  I  would  like  to  speak  with  you,  if  you 
can  spare  me  a  few  moments." 

135 


Ashes  of  Roses 


He  still  wore  his  riding-suit,  I  noticed 
to  my  amazement,  for  an  early  Commun- 
ion service  on  Sunday  morning  was 
scarcely  the  place  for  a  velvet  coat  and 
silver-spurred  boots!  What  in  the  world 
had  come  over  him  ?  But  without  a  ques- 
tion, I  seated  myself,  and  looked  wonder- 
ingly  up  into  the  haggard  face,  waiting  for 
him  to  make  known  his  motive  in  stopping 
me. 

But  he  only  remained  standing  in  the 
aisle,  with  his  hand  on  the  back  of  the 
pew,  his  eyes  on  the  ground.  He  had  not 
for  an  instant  looked  at  me,  I  remembered 
with  a  sudden  quick  throb.  What  could 
have  happened  ?  Was  he  vexed  with  me  ? 
Oh,  why  would  he  not  speak,  and  tell  me? 

The  rose  at  my  throat  became  loosened 
somehow,  and  fell  into  my  lap. 

I  caught  it  up  nervously,  and  began 
beating  it,  with  a  pretence  at  carelessness, 
against  my  gray-gloved  fingers.  A  tiny 
shower  of  petals  fell  on  the  crimson  floor, 
and  lay  gleaming  like  flecks  of  sunshine 
in  the  dusk. 

I  bent    my    head    and    watched   them 

136 


A  Simple  Service 


curiously.  I  even  gave  them  a  gentle 
kick  with  the  toe  of  my  boot. 

And  then  I  counted  them,  one — two — 
three — four — five !  And  still  he  had  not 
spoken!  The  sixth  one  fluttered  down 
from  the  poor  mutilated  blossom  in  my 
unconscious  fingers. 

"Don't!"  cried  Colonel  Dennington, 
-with  sudden  vehemence.  "  Don't  do 
that!" 

"Don't  do  what?" 

"That,"  he  replied,  almost  fiercely. 
"  Why  do  you  want  to  murder  the  poor 
thing?" 

I  flashed  a  single  look  at  him,  of  won- 
der and  concern,  and  then  the  blood 
rushed  to  my  cheeks  as  pink  as  the  flower 
itself.  Rising,  with  a  turn  of  my  little 
head  as  proudly  defiant  as  his  very  own, 
I  looked  him  straight  in  the  eyes,  and  he 
met  my  glance  for  the  first  time  that  day. 

"  And  you  have  detained  me  all  this 
time  to  ask  me  that  ?"  I  said,  coolly, 
though  my  heart  was  thumping  unmerci- 
fully. "  I  will  trouble  you  to  let  me  pass, 
Colonel  Dennington." 

i37 


Ashes  of  Roses 


Until  my  dying  day  I  shall  never  forget 
that  moment.  The  whiff  of  a  rose,  even 
now,  after  all  these  years,  will  bring  it 
back  to  me  as  vividly  as  yesterday, — the 
still  church,  the  birds  twittering  outside  in 
the  soft,  western  sunshine,  the  dying  rose 
lying  unheeded  on  the  floor,  breathing  out 
its  life  in  perfume.  I  saw  them  all,  and 
yet  I  never  took  my  eyes  from  that  cold, 
white  face.  We  stood  looking  at  each 
other  steadily — was  it  only  a  moment  ? 
It  seemed  centuries. 

"  No,"  he  said  at  last,  slowly.  "  It  was 
not  for  this  that  I  detained  you.  I  would 
give  my  heart's  blood  for  a  word  with  you 
just  now,  but  if  I  have  forfeited  my  right 
to  ask  that  favour,  you  shall  go.  I  would 
not  seek  to  detain  you  an  instant  against 
your  will." 

He  stepped  back  as  he  spoke,  and  made 
room  for  me  to  pass.  And  I  should  have 
gone,  I  think,  but  I  saw  what  he  never 
meant  that  I  should  see,  a  quiver  of  the 
white  lips.  I  stopped — faltered. 

"You — you  are  in  trouble?"  I  said. 
"You  need  me,  Colonel  Dennington? 

138 


A  Simple  Service 


But  why  do  you  choose  such  a  time  as 
this  to  speak  ?" 

"  I  happened  to  see  you.  I  supposed — 
no,  no!"  he  interrupted  himself  suddenly, 
and  struck  the  back  of  the  pew  fiercely 
with  his  clenched  hand.  "  I  will  not  add 
another  lie  to  the  one  already  on  my  soul. 
I  did  not  happen  to  see  you, — I  did  not 
suppose  you  would  be  here.  I  saw  you 
come.  I  followed  you,  step  by  step.  I 
came-into  the  church  just  behind  you,  and 
I've  never  taken  my  eyes  off  your  face 
since, — God  forgive  me! — as  you  knelt 
there  like  an  angel  in  prayer." 

"  You  followed  me  here  ?"  I  repeated,  in 
vague  surprise.  "  Why  did  you  do  that  ?" 

"  To  get  a  chance  to  speak  to  you." 

"You  did  not  come  to  attend  the  Com- 
munion then?" 

He  gave  a  quick,  comprehensive  glance 
at  his  dusty  riding-suit. 

"  Hardly,  in  these  clothes.  I  did  not 
realise  that  I  had  them  on  still,  until  I 
saw  your  wondering  look  just  now.  I — I 
have  not  been  home  since  I  parted  from 
you  last  night," 

139 


Ashes  of  Roses 


"  Why,  where  have  you  been  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  Everywhere — any- 
where. Walking  the  streets  mostly,  I  be- 
lieve. I  could  not  live  indoors,  every- 
thing seemed  to  choke  me." 

I  sank  into  the  seat  again,  trembling  in 
every  limb.  What,  oh  what  had  happened  ? 

"  I  thought  sometimes  that  the  night 
would  never  end.  But  morning  did  come 
at  last,  and  brought  me — you.  I  fol- 
lowed you  to  church — I  don't  know  why. 
I  spoke  to  you  afterward — I  don't  know 
why,  or  what  I  wanted  to  say.  I  only 
know  I  had  a  vague  feeling  that  it  would 
help  me,  somehow,  just  to  be  near  you. 
It  would  make  me  braver,  better." 

The  simple  words  touched  me  as  noth- 
ing else  had  done.  I  put  out  my  hand 
and  laid  it  gently  on  his  arm. 

"You  thought  that  I  could  help  you?" 
I  said.  "  Indeed  I  will,  if  I  can.  Has 
something  dreadful  happened  since  we 
parted  last  night  ?" 

"No, "he  answered.  "It  is  only  the 
old,  old  story  that  I  have  been  trying  for 
twenty  years  to  forget.  But  yesterday, 

140 


A  Simple  Service 


telling  you  what  I  did  brought  it  all  back 
to  me,  and  last  night  I  lived  it  all  over 
again,  everything,  step  by  step." 

He  threw  himself  wearily  into  the  seat 
beside  me,  and  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands.  And  the  sweet,  withered  rose  lay 
on  the  floor,  gleaming  like  a  star  in  the 
darkness.  Was  it  only  yesterday  that  he 
had  given  it  to  me? 

Oh,  how  I  longed  to  say  or  do  some- 
thing to  comfort  him! 

"  I — I  wish  I  were  wiser,"  I  said  timidly, 
at  last.  "  I  wish  I  knew  better  how  to 
help  you.  I  would  do  anything  so  gladly, 
if  I  could.  You  know  that  surely  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  But  there  is  nothing,  unless — unless — 
don't  you  think  perhaps  it  would  help  you 
to  share  your  secret  with  someone?  It 
must  have  been  so  heavy  for  you  to  bear 
alone  all  these  years.  Wouldn't  you  trust 
me  enough,  perhaps,  to  tell  me?" 

He  looked  up  quickly. 

"  Trust  you,  dear  child  ?  I  would  trust 
you  with  my  very  soul,  if  I  could! 
But " 

141 


Ashes  of  Roses 


"  Then  tell  me,  and  you  will  feel  that 
at  least  you  are  not  bearing  it  alone  any 
more.  Let  me  prove  myself  your  friend 
indeed,  and  help  you,  if  I  can." 

"  It  is  really  no  secret,"  he  said  slowly. 
"  It  is  nothing  that  I  am  ashamed  of, 
nothing  but  what  might  happen  to  any 
man, — is  happening  everyday,  I  suppose. 
I  make  a  secret  of  it  simply  because  I 
want  to  forget  it.  If  others  knew,  they 
would  speak  to  me  of  it,  perhaps,  and 
keep  its  memory  alive.  But  to  tell  you — 
the  last  person  in  the  world  to  whom  I 
thought  I  should  ever  speak  of  it!" 

"  And  why  ?" 

He  did  not  answer.  He  only  sat  for  a 
long  time  looking  very  soberly  down  at 
the  little  rose  dying  at  his  feet.  At  last — 

"It  is  the  irony  of  Fate,"  he  said. 
"Yes,  I  will  tell  you." 

"I  thank  you  for  trusting  me.  You 
may  be  sure  that  whatever  you  choose  to 
tell  me  will  be  sacred  between  us." 

"  Of  that  I  am  sure,  little  friend,  and 
you  are  the  only  woman  on  earth  whom  I 
do  trust,  absolutely.  But  I  will  not  de- 

142 


A  Simple  Service 


tain  you  long,  for  I  shall  not  mince  my 
words.  When  I  told  you  yesterday  that 
my  wife  was  dead, — I  lied." 

"  She  is  not  dead  ?"  I  asked  breathlessly. 

"She  was  not,  at  that  time.  Yet 
though  her  cheeks  were  as  fair  as  ever, 
and  her  step  as  light,  and  her  laugh  as 
gay,  she  was  still  dead — to  me. " 

"  Dead — to  you  ?" 

"Yes.  Do  you  know  what  that  means? 
It  means  that  she  could  not  have  been 
more  utterly  lost  to  me,  had  she  been 
lying  in  her  grave, — nay,  not  so  much  so, 
for  if  Death  alone  had  taken  her  from  me 
I  would  not  be  the  trembling,  white- 
haired  man  who  speaks  to  you  to-day. 
For  Death  is  merciful,  sometimes,  and 
though  I  would  have  wept  to  give  her  up 
to  him,  I  could  still  have  whispered,  'Only 
a  little  while,  dear  one!'  and  have  walked 
on  through  life,  lonely  and  sad,  but  com- 
forted with  that  one  great  hope.  But 
now,  neither  life  nor  death,  neither  time 
nor  eternity  can  give  her  to  me  again. 
She  is  gone,  and  I  shall  never  see  her  now, 
never  any  more!" 

143 


Ashes  of  Roses 


"  Not  even  in  heaven  ?"  I  whispered. 

"Not  even  in  heaven,"  he  said,  and 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"Oh,  yes!"  I  cried.  "Surely  you  will 
see  her  there.  God  has  forgiven  her,  I 
know,  even  if  you  have  not." 

He  raised  his  head  wearily. 

"You  do  not  understand,"  he  said. 
"Poor  child,  how  could  you?  I  know 
that  the  woman  who  bore  her  name  will 
be  in  heaven — for  that  one  blot  on  her 
white  soul  would  never  bar  her  out — but 
still  she  will  not  be  the  one  I  lost.  I 
shall  see  her  face, — oh,  that  sweet,  tender 
face! — and  shall  call  her  by  name,  per- 
haps, and  look  into  those  dear  eyes,  but 
still  it  will  not  be  she,  the  woman  I  knew 
on  earth  and  learned  to  love.  For  she — 
the  one  I  loved — is  gone  for  ever.  She 
died  full  twenty  years  ago,  and  is  dead 
for  all  eternity.  Now  do  you  under- 
stand?" 

Ah  me!  I  understood  now,  only  too 
well! 

"  For  I  loved  her,"  he  went  on,  as  I  did 
not  answer.  "  I  dare  not  think  of  those 

144 


A  Simple  Service 


days — they  drive  me  mad,  sometimes. 
How  well  I  remember  the  first  time  I  ever 
saw  her !  She  was  visiting  my  sister  in  that 
home  of  which  I  told  you,  and  the  two 
girls  were  coming  toward  me  across  the 
grass,  arm-in-arm,  she  in  some  soft  white 
dress,  her  pure  soul  shining  out  of  those 
dark-fringed,  violet  eyes.  How  well  I 
remember — and  how  hard  I  have  tried  to 
forget!  But  it  is  of  no  use,  no  use. 
Even  in  the  darkest  night,  with  my  hand 
over  my  face,  I  see  those  tender  eyes 
looking  up  at  me  from  under  their 
shadowy  lashes — something  as  you  look 
at  me,  sometimes,  little  friend." 

And  still  the  pink  rose  lay  on  the  floor, 
forgotten  by  us  both.  Who  cared  now 
whether  it  were  dying?  Was  not  she 
dead,  that  most  beautiful  of  women! 

"  She  was  so  fair,"  he  continued,  slowly, 
yet  a  soft  light  shining  in  his  face  as  he 
spoke,  "  so  dainty,  so  like  a  frail  wood- 
violet  beside  our  brilliant  southern  blos- 
soms, how  could  I  help  loving  her  ?  She 
twined  herself  about  my  heartstrings  with 
a  thousand  winsome  ways,  until  I  would 


Ashes  of  Roses 


have  laid  down  my  life  for  one  of  her 
brown  curls.  And  she? — she  only  looked 
at  me  out  of  those  wonderful  eyes  until  I 
was  utterly  beside  myself,  and  vowed  to 
win  her  for  my  wife,  if  I  lost  Heaven 
itself  in  the  attempt." 

"Oh!"  I  cried,  half-startled  by  his  ve- 
hemence. 

"  Does  that  sound  strange  to  come  from 
lips  like  mine,  little  one?  White  faces 
and  whiter  hairs  go  but  ill  with  such  pas- 
sionate words,  I  know.  But  though  I 
seem  only  an  old  man,  now,  my  heart  still 
throbs  in  remembrance  of  that  time,  as 
though  it  were  only  yesterday.  We  stood 
under  those  dear  old  trees,  she  and  I, 
with  the  moon  shining  down  upon  us  as  it 
only  can  shine  in  a  Southern  night.  It 
must  have  been  the  moonlight,  or  the 
witchery  of  the  hour,  or  the  white  dress 
she  wore,  in  which  she  looked  as  beauti- 
ful as  an  angel.  I  never  could  remember 
how  it  all  came  about.  All  I  know  is 
that  I  could  keep  my  secret  no  longer.  I 
told  her  that  I  loved  her." 

It  was  spoken  simply,  but  a  great  glory 

146 


A  Simple  Service 


seemed  to  come  Into  his  face  as  he  said 
the  words,  and  illuminate  it.  I  held  my 
breath,  and  waited. 

"  And  she  said  she  loved  me,  and  laid 
her  dear  brown  head  upon  my  breast,  and 
cried  just  a  little — the  tender  darling! — 
and  whispered  that  she  would  be  mine,  for 
ever  and  ever  and  ever.  Oh,  the  sweet 
promises  that  were  made  that  night,  the 
vows  that  only  the  summer-winds  heard! 
Do  you  wonder  that  I  hate  the  moon,  as 
I  told  you  once?  It  seems  always  to  be 
staring  down  upon  my  misery,  and  say- 
ing, coldly,  'I  was  there.  I  saw  it.  I 
heard  it.  She  said  she  loved  you,  and 
now  she  is  dead — dead!' ' 

As  he  spoke,  the  clergyman  slipped  into 
the  chancel,  and  quietly  and  reverently 
removed  the  Communion  service  from  the 
altar.  I  watched  him  almost  mechani- 
cally, as  he  went  back  and  forth,  with 
the  shining  silver  in  his  hands.  Was  I 
dreaming,  I  wondered  ?  Was  it  only  this 
morning,  or  was  it  in  some  other  world 
that  I  had  risen  from  my  bed  and  thanked 
God  for  His  goodness?  I  had  never 

147 


Ashes  of  Roses 


known,  then,  that  sorrow  such  as  this  ex- 
isted— could  exist.  And  how  could  God 
be  Love,  to  allow  such  sorrow  to  come 
upon  His  children,  for  whom  He  died? 

"  I  know  you  are  weary,"  said  the  Colo- 
nel, following  my  glance,  "  but  bear  with 
an  old  man  just  a  little  longer,  if  you 
can.  His  story  is  almost  told,  for  it  was 
all  too  quickly  over — that  happy  dream! 
My  darling  went  away,  not  long  after 
that,  back  to  her  Northern  home,  and  my 
life's  sunshine  went  with  her.  I  could 
not  let  her  go  even  then,  until  she  had 
promised  that  on  the  next  New  Year's 
Day  she  would  become  my  wife.  It  was 
about  six  weeks  after  she  went  away,  that 
she  sent  me  a  letter — who  but  a  woman 
could  have  written  it  ?  I  read  it  only 
once,  but  I  could  tell  you  every  word  to- 
day. I  tore  it  in  pieces,  and  threw  it  in 
the  fire.  'It  is  not  her  letter,'  I  said, 
though  when  I  opened  it,  the  ring  I  had 
given  her  dropped  into  my  hand.  'My 
darling  could  never  have  written  it.  I 
will  never  believe  those  cruel  words  until 
I  hear  them  from  her  own  lips. ' 

148 


A  Simple  Service 


"  I  rang  the  bell,  ordered  my  satchel, 
and  took  the  train  for  the  North  that 
night.  No  one  knew  where  I  had  gone. 
No  one  knew  the  nature  of  the  'impor- 
tant business  '  that  was  calling  me  to  New 
York  so  suddenly.  And  she,  least  of  all, 
knew  that  I  was  coming.  The  days  were 
years  to  my  impatient  soul,  the  fastest 
trains  seemed  to  creep  like  snails.  I 
could  have  walked  faster,  I  thought  to 
myself.  Oh,  to  reach  her  at  last,  to  hear 
from  her  own  lips  that  the  dreadful  letter 
was  not  hers,  was  a  forgery,  a  mistake — 
anything  but  true! 

"  When  I  reached  New  York  at  last  it 
was  evening.  I  threw  myself  into  a  car- 
riage, gave  the  man  the  address,  and  a 
gold-piece.  He  seemed  to  understand, 
and  we  sped  up  town  like  mad,  in  and  out 
among  the  crowds  on  Broadway  until  my 
brain  fairly  reeled  and  I  closed  my  eyes 
in  very  dizziness.  Two  days  and  two 
nights  of  torturing  suspense,  and  I  was 
almost  there!  Half  an  hour  more,  twenty 
minutes,  perhaps,  and  I  should  be  holding 
her  in  my  arms,  hearing  her  tell  me  it  was 

149 


Ashes  of  Roses 

a  mistake,  a  jest,  a  trick  to  test  my  love. 
'And  I  will  never  go  home  alone,'  I 
thought  to  myself,  clenching  my  teeth. 
'I  will  never  leave  New  York  until  I  can 
take  my  wife  back  with  me!'  The  lights 
grew  fewer  and  fewer,  and  there  was  less 
passing  now.  We  were  in  a  side  street, 
and  could  go  faster,  I  saw  to  my  delight. 
Almost  there!  Which  of  those  tall  dark 
houses  was  it  that  hid  my  jewel  from  my 
longing  eyes  ?  Ah,  the  horses  are  slacken- 
ing their  breakneck  pace,  and — we  have 
stopped  at  last.  I  throw  open  the  car- 
riage-door and  run  up  the  steps,  giving 
the  old  iron  knocker  as  hard  a  clang  as 
my  trembling  hand  can  summon.  Is  it 
knocking  louder  than  my  own  heart,  I 
wonder?  And  will  they  never  open  the 
door!  Suppose  she  should  open  it  her- 
self, what  then  ? 

"  The  servant  comes  at  last.  The  young 
lady  is  at  home.  Will  I  walk  in?  I  walk 
in  at  once,  lay  my  satchel  down  in  the 
hall,  and  fumble  for  a  card.  At  length  I 
find  one — what  has  gotten  into  my  hand 
to  make  it  shake  so? — and  am  ushered 

150 


A  Simple  Service 


into  the  parlour,  where  I  proceed  to  pace 
up  and  down,  too  nervous  to  be  quiet.  I 
hear  the  sound  of  footsteps  overhead,  and 
then  a  long,  ominous  silence.  A  light 
laugh  reaches  me  once,  sounding  strangely 
familiar — but  that  is  all.  Why  in  the 
world  does  she  not  come  down  ?  Surely 
she  is  not  stopping  to  make  an  elaborate 
toilette,  with  her  lover  pacing  the  floor 
below! 

"  At  last  I  hear  footsteps  descending  the 
stairs,  and  turn  hastily,  to  see  only  the 
maid-servant  again,  standing  at  the  door. 
'The  young  lady  is  not  very  well,  to- 
night, and  begs  to  be  excused. '  I  look 
at  the  woman  keenly,  and  she  retreats  a 
step  into  the  hall.  My  face  is  not  a  pleas- 
ant one  just  then,  I  fancy! 

"'My  compliments  to  the  lady,'  I  say, 
very  quietly,  'and  if  she  is  indisposed,  I 
will  do  myself  the  honour  of  calling  again 
to-morrow  morning,  at  ten  o'clock.' 

"  The  woman  bows,  I  pick  up  my  bag 
and  walk  out  of  the  house,  too  sick  at 
heart  to  think  what  I  shall  do  next.  I 
only  walk  up  and  down,  up  and  down, 


Ashes  of  Roses 


carrying  my  heavy  bag,  and  never  once 
feeling  its  weight.  Out  in  the  streets! 
Turned  away  from  the  house,  and  with- 
out a  word ! 

"  At  midnight  I  reach  the  Astor  House, 
go  to  my  room,  throw  open  the  window, 
and  sit  down  beside  it,  numbly.  The  city 
lies  asleep  at  my  feet.  She  is  sleeping 
there,  too,  my  own  darling,  my  very  life 
itself!  And  she  would  not  see  me — no, 
no,  could  not.  She  would  never  deceive 
me,  even  in  so  small  a  thing.  She  was 
really  not  able  to  see  me,  but  to-morrow 
— I  must  be  patient.  I  light  one  cigar 
from  another,  and  sit  at  the  window  until 
morning  breaks  in  the  east  like  a  gray 
spectre,  and  the  sun  rises  only  to  be  en- 
gulfed in  the  folds  of  a  dense,  ocean  fog. 
I  shiver,  as  I  throw  my  cigar  aside,  and 
wonder,  dully,  if  all  Northern  days  begin 
like  this.  Worn  out,  I  throw  myself  on 
the  bed,  and  sleep  for  an  hour,  but  it  is  a 
restless  sleep  and  does  me  no  good.  At 
seven  I  go  down  to  breakfast,  and  at  eight 
I  am  sitting  again  in  my  room,  watch  in 
hand,  waiting  for  the  slow  minutes  to  pass, 

152 


A  Simple  Service 


until  half-past  nine,  when  I  think  I  may 
start.  But  I  will  not  dwell  on  all  this.  I 
must  hurry  on — the  end  is  near,  now. 

"  When  I  leave  the  hotel  at  half-past 
nine,  a  dull  gray  mist  is  falling,  half  fog, 
half  rain,  and  wholly  disagreeable.  An- 
other carriage  is  called,  and  at  ten  pre- 
cisely— I  had  timed  myself  well — I  am 
standing  once  more  on  those  steps  and 
pounding  the  knocker.  The  rain  has  in- 
creased, and  beats  a  steady  pat-pat  on  my 
umbrella.  The  maid  opens  the  door,  as 
on  the  evening  before,  and  eyes  me  some- 
what suspiciously. 

"'The  lady  is  better  to-day,  I  trust?'  I 
say,  as  pleasantly  as  I  can,  starting  to 
close  my  umbrella. 

"  'Yes,  sir,  she's  better, '  replies  the  girl, 
'but — but  she's  not  at  home.' 

"  'Not  at  home  on  a  day  like  this?'  I 
echo. 

"'No,  sir!' 

"Did  you  give  her  my  message  last 
night?' 

"'Yes,  sir.' 

"  I  hesitate.     There   is   a  brief  strug- 

153 


Ashes  of  Roses 


gle  between  pride  and  love — and  love 
wins. 

'  'Do  you  know  where  she  has  gone  ?' 

"'No,  sir.' 

"  'When  will  she  return,  do  you  think  ?' 

"'I'm  sure  I  don't  know.' 

"'Be  good  enough  to  find  out,  if  you 
please. ' 

"  She  gives  me  a  long  stare,  but  I  have 
planted  myself  on  the  steps,  and  it  is  very 
evident  that  I  mean  to  stay  until  I  find 
out.  So  she  sulkily  withdraws — closing 
the  door  carefully  behind  her — and  I  re- 
main outside,  with  the  rain  for  company. 

"  But  I  have  not  long  to  wait.  She  re- 
turns almost  immediately,  with  the  mes- 
sage that  nobody  knows  when  the  young 
lady  will  be  at  home, — and  I  fancy  there 
is  a  triumphant  gleam  in  her  eyes  as  she 
says  it.  I  turn  on  my  heel  and  walk  down 
the  steps.  Not  even  admitted  to  the 
house  this  time!  What  will  come  next? 

"  One  course  is  left  me — and  I  take  it. 
Returning  to  the  hotel,  I  send  a  note,  a 
very  short  one,  but  it  is  written  in  my 
heart's  blood." 

i54 


A  Simple  Service 


And  the  poor  little  rose  lay  dying, 
dying  all  alone  in  the  darkness! 

"  They  used  to  tell  me  I  was  handsome 
in  those  days — I  can  say  this  to  you,  now 
that  Time  has  dealt  so  roughly  with  me — 
but  it  was  far  from  a  handsome  face  that 
I  saw  staring  at  me  from  the  mirror  when 
I  had  waited  for  my  answer  two  days  and 
nights,  in  vain.  I  had  not  slept,  I  had 
scarcely  eaten.  I  had  spent  most  of  the 
time  in  the  streets,  haunting  the  theatres, 
the  shops,  the  crowded  promenades,  any- 
where that  I  thought  I  might  catch  a 
glimpse  of  her.  But  I  never  did.  Two 
days  and  two  nights !  And  still  no  answer. 
Was  she  dead  ?  Surely  death  alone  could 
have  kept  her  from  replying  to  that  letter, 
my  poor,  passionate  letter,  full  of  love 
and  pleading.  No,  no.  She  was  not 
dead — they  would  have  told  me.  They 
would  have  been  more  merciful  than  she. 

"When  the  third  day  had  dragged  its 
dull  length  to  an  end,  I  made  up  my  mind 
that  I  could  bear  the  suspense  no  longer. 
I  would  see  her.  I  would  haunt  the  house 
like  its  shadow.  They  might  drive  me 


Ashes  of  Roses 


away  a  thousand  times,  a  thousand  times 
I  would  go  back.  I  would  stay  until  they 
had  to  let  me  in — and  once  within  those 
walls,  no  power  on  earth  could  keep  me 
from  my  darling.  Wherever  she  should 
hide,  my  love  would  find  her  out.  No 
room  should  be  sacred,  upstairs  or  down, 
no  lock  and  key  should  be  as  strong 
as  the  mighty  strength  of  my  will.  I 
would  see  her,  though  I  should  have  to 
fight  my  way  to  her  side,  inch  by  inch. 
You  can  judge  from  that  how  the  suspense 
of  that  week  had  almost  driven  me  mad. 
No  sane  man  would  have  dreamed  of  such 
a  course,  but  in  truth  I  was  not  myself,  I 
was  hardly  responsible  for  what  I  said  or 
did.  One  thought  went  surging  through 
my  brain,  and  one  thought  only,  over- 
whelming reason,  judgment,  pride,  every- 
thing— to  see  her,  by  fair  means,  if 
possible,  by  foul,  if  necessary.  That  was 
all  my  mind  had  room  for,  then." 

As  I  looked  at  him,  the  remembrance 
of  a  certain  calm  July  morning  not  long 
ago,  came  into  my  mind — the  morning 
when  he  had  made  his  first  call  upon  us, 

156 


A  Simple  Service 


and  I  had  sat  watching  him,  from  rrv. 
darkened  corner.  Was  not  I  right  that 
day  in  thinking  that  those  resolute  lines 
about  the  mouth  were  not  there  for  noth- 
ing? Was  I  not  right  when  I  said  to  my- 
self that  day  that  he  had  a  will  which 
neither  man  nor  time  nor  circumstances 
c-Mici  break?  But  how  about  a  woman? 
Ah,  I  hau  not  thought  of  that!  Was  it 
to  be  the  old,  old  story  after  all  ? 

"The  resolution  was  no  sooner  taken," 
he  went  on,  "  than  I  was  downstairs  and 
out  into  the  street.  No  carriage  this 
time,  though  a  dozen  voices  assailed  me 
from  lusty  throats  as  I  passed.  I  felt  that 
I  would  die  if  I  had  to  sit  still  anywhere, 
just  then.  I  must  walk,  run,  move,  do 
something,  no  matter  what,  only  to  end 
this  horrible  passive  waiting  that  was  kill- 
ing me.  I  thrust  my  hands  deep  into  my 
overcoat  pockets  and  strode  on,  looking 
neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left,  my  hat 
pulled  low  over  my  eyes. 

"  I  had  no  knowledge  of  the  streets — I 
only  knew  that  I  was  going  to  her,  and 
my  lover's  instinct  guided  my  steps.  But 

i57 


Ashes  of  Roses 


I  remember  wondering  in  a  vague,  misty 
way  if  it  were  very  far,  and  also  of  feel- 
ing a  dull  surprise  to  find  that  it  was 
night  again.  The  long  rows  of  lights 
flickered  unsteadily  before  me,  like  mock- 
ing eyes  in  the  darkness.  How  they 
winked  among  themselves,  and  laughed  at 
me  for  a  poor  fool  on  a  fool's  errand! 
Then  they  grew  like  her  eyes,  calm  and 
tender — I  stumbled  a  little,  and  recover- 
ing myself  saw  the  passers-by  stare  at  me 
curiously. 

"'Poor  fellow!'  I  heard  a  gentle  voice 
murmur  as  I  passed.  'He  is  so  young 
for  that!' 

"  I  smiled  grimly,  and  buttoned  my  coat 
closer  about  me  as  I  hurried  on.  Their 
glances  of  pity,  of  wonder,  of  fear  were 
all  alike  to  me — one  troubled  me  as  little 
as  the  other.  Let  them  think  what  they 
would.  The  hand  thrust  deep  in  my 
pocket  lay  against  something  hard  and 
cold,  and  its  touch  calmed  me  inexpres- 
sibly. There  was  one  friend,  at  least, 
upon  whom  I  could  depend,  and  my  fin- 
gers closed  over  it  almost  lovingly.  I 

158 


A  Simple  Service 


would  not  kill  her,  oh  no!  the  tiniest  hair 
upon  her  head  was  sacred  to  me,  but — 
well,  time  would  tell. 

"  Up  one  street  and  down  another,  not 
stumbling  now,  but  quiet — oh  yes,  very 
very  quiet  and  calm.  There  was  nothing 
to  be  excited  about.  I  was  just  going  to 
see  my  darling,  that  was  all.  And  how 
glad  she  would  be  to  see  me  after  all 
these  months  of  separation!  How  she 
would  cling  to  me,  and  sob,  and  bury  her 
dear  face  on  my  shoulder  and  refuse  to 
look  up!  And  how  by-and-by  she  would 
let  me  wipe  the  tears  away,  and  would 
smile  up  at  me  in  the  old  sweet  way,  and 
be  bright  once  more,  and  ten  times  lovelier 
than  ever.  And  how  she  would  stand  on 
her  tiptoes  to  kiss  me,  and  call  me  a  fool- 
ish boy,  and  say  she  didn't  like  me,  not 
the  least  bit! 

"  And  then  I  would  take  my  bride  away 
with  me,  out,  out  into  the  night,  just  she 
and  I  together,  and  no  one  else  in  all  the 
world.  Ah,  we  would  be  so  happy! 
Why  was  my  heart  so  heavy  ?  Why  did 
my  steps  drag  so,  and  the  dry  sobs  catch 

159 


Ashes  of  Roses 


in  my  throat  ?  Was  that  the  way  to  go  to 
one's  bride,  the  fairest  bride  that  God 
ever  made  ?  And  why  was  I  not  in  a  car- 
riage, instead  of  plodding  along  in  the 
mud?  Who  ever  heard  of  a  man's  going 
to  his  own  wedding  afoot!  Great  heav- 
ens! It  was  preposterous!  I  couldn't 
ask  her  to  walk,  surely,  in  all  her  bridal 
finery,  with  her  tiny  white  slippers,  and 
cloud  of  a  veil.  How  beautiful  she  would 
look,  to  be  sure,  blushing  and  trembling 
beneath  its  sheltering  folds,  and  how 
proud  I  would  be,  how  proud  and — there 
was  the  house,  now!  I  had  almost  gone 
past  it  in  my  haste. 

"  I  stopped,  and  leaning  against  the  iron 
railings  of  the  court  looked  up  at  the  win- 
dows. All  were  dark,  except  in  the  sec- 
ond story,  where  the  light  sifted  through 
the  soft  lace  curtains  dimly.  They  were 
dressing  her  there,  no  doubt,  the  little 
bevy  of  fluttering  bridesmaids,  one  tying 
on  her  fairy  slippers,  another  giving  the 
last  touch  to  the  shining  curls,  a  third 
fastening  the  bit  of  orange-blossom  on 
her  veil.  I  pulled  out  my  watch.  Ten 

160 


A  Simple  Service 


minutes  of  midnight — an  odd  hour  for  a 
wedding,  surely!  But  never  mind  that. 
Why  did  I  not  go  in  and  claim  her,  in- 
stead of  standing  outside,  gazing  long- 
ingly up  at  her  windows  as  if  I  had  no 
right  to  be  inside  ?  No  right — at  my  own 
wedding!  I  took  a  quick  step  forward, 
but  stopped.  The  guests  had  not  begun 
to  come  yet,  evidently,  for  the  parlour, 
was  quite  dark.  I  must  be  ahead  of  time, 
like  all  impatient  bridegrooms.  Better 

wait  a  while.     Better 

"  A  carriage  rattled  over  the  stones, 
echoing  noisily  through  the  quiet  streets. 
'The  guests  are  arriving!'  I  thought, 
exultantly,  and  sure  enough  it  was  stop- 
ping before  the  house.  I  leaned  forward, 
and  saw  the  door  flung  open,  and  a  man 
spring  out,  his  tall  figure  in  evening  dress 
assuming  almost  grotesque  proportions  as 
it  emerged  from  the  darkness.  The  next 
instant  a  satin  slipper  appeared  on  the 
carriage  step,  a  gloved  hand  was  laid  con- 
fidingly in  his,  and  from  the  depths  of  the 
carriage  appeared  a  slender  figure  wrapped 
in  its  long  white  opera-cloak.  She  stood 

161 


Ashes  of  Roses 


a  second  by  his  side,  gathering  her  heavy 
train,  and  smiling  up  archly  into  his  face. 
The  gleam  from  the  carriage-lamp  fell  on 
her  dark  hair,  and  turned  the  jewels  at 
her  throat  into  a  thousand  sparkles.  Had 
each  one  been  a  two-edged  sword  cutting 
into  my  soul,  it  could  not  have  cut  deeper 
or  told  the  truth  more  surely.  I  knew  it 
all,  and  sprang  forward  with  a  low  cry. 

"  She  saw  me,  a  white  terror  flying  into 
her  face  as  her  eyes  met  mine. 

'  'O  my  darling!'  I  pleaded,  the  pent-up 
agony  of  those  days  of  torture  ringing  in 
my  voice.  'I  have  been  waiting  so  long'. 
What  have  I  done,  dearest,  what  have  I 
done?' 

"  She  only  turned  her  head  away,  and 
did  not  answer. 

"  But  the  other  answered  for  her.  He 
strode  between  us,  and  put  her  almost 
roughly  behind  him,  as  he  turned  on  me 
with  a  face  as  livid  as  my  very  own. 

''Who  are  you,  sir?'  he  cried.  'And 
how  dare  you  address  such  words  to  my 
promised  wife?' 

"  His  promised  wife! 

162 


A  Simple  Service 


"  The  light  flickered  unsteadily  upon  us 
as  we  stood  there,  gazing  into  each  other's 
faces,  white  to  the  lips.  In  the  heat  of 
my  passion  I  could  have  fallen  upon  him 
and  killed  him  then  and  there.  It  took 
all  my  self-control  to  keep  from  striking 
with  my  open  hand  that  cold,  handsome 
face.  Mechanically  my  ringers  closed 
over  the  pistol  in  my  pocket,  but — he  was 
unarmed,  and  even  in  my  rage  I  could  not 
forget  that.  And  there  was  that  tender, 
drooping  figure  clinging  to  his  arm,  whose 
eyes  seemed  pleading — and  they  could 
conquer  me,  even  then! 

'  'I  waste  no  words  on  you,  sir!'  I  said, 
haughtily.  '  My  business  is  with  this  lady, 
and  until  she  tells  me  with  her  own  lips 
that  she  is  your  promised  wife,  I  shall  not 
believe  it. ' 

"  He  sprang  forward  with  an  oath,  but 
I  pushed  him  back.  And  my  muscles  were 
like  iron  in  those  days. 

"'One  moment,'  I  said  quietly,  and 
turned  to  my  darling.  'Look  at  me, 
Ruth.' 

"  She  raised  her  head. 
163 


Ashes  of  Roses 


"'Is  it  true  that  you  are  engaged  to 
this  man  ?' 

"  The  eyelids  fluttered,  and  she  tried  to 
drop  her  eyes,  but  there  was  something 
in  my  own  that  compelled  an  answer. 
Slowly  the  blood  flushed  to  her  very  fore- 
head, and  I  watched  it  coldly,  almost  with 
a  dull  curiosity,  as  it  rose  and  died  away. 

'"Answer  me,'  I  said  again.  'Is  it 
true?' 

"'Yes,'  was  all  she  said — but  when  she 
lies  in  her  grave  her  face  will  not  be 
whiter. 

"  I  bent  down  and  I  looked  into  those 
beautiful  eyes  which  until  that  moment 
had  held  all  my  life's  sunshine,  even  as 
one  might  look  into  the  dear  face  of  the 
dead — and  then,  without  a  word,  I  turned 
and  walked  away,  into  the  darkness  and 
the  night." 

The  white  head  fell  heavily  upon  his 
hands,  and  the  last  words  came  almost 
like  a  sigh.  The  clergyman  had  left  the 
altar,  with  the  service  draped  in  its  fair 
linen  cloth,  and  we  were  alone  together — 
he  and  I,  and  the  poor  little  dead  rose. 

164 


A  Simple  Service 


"  And  it  has  been  darkness  and  night 
ever  since  ?"  I  whispered. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "I  never  saw  her 
again.  She  is  dead,  you  know." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know." 

And  then  a  long  silence  fell  between 
us. 

"  But  you  ?"  I  said  at  last,  timidly. 
"Where  did  you  go  then, — what  did  you 
do?" 

"  I  was  sick,  they  tell  me,  for  many 
weeks  after  that, — brain-fever,  the  doctors 
called  it.  But  we  will  not  speak  of  those 
days.  I  did  not  die,  though  they  never 
dreamed  how  worthless  was  the  life  they 
were  struggling  so  hard  to  bring  back ! 
After  that,  I  went  abroad, — that  is  where 
all  jilted  lovers  are  supposed  to  go,  is  it 
not?  I  spent  four  years  in  travelling 
about,  throwing  away  time  and  money  in 
trying  to  forget.  Forget ! —  When  I  saw 
before  me  only  her  dear  face  shining 
through  everything  and  in  everything !  It 
was  all  of  no  avail,  and  when  I  turned  my 
steps  homeward  at  last,  it  was  with  as 
heavy  a  heart  as  when  I  went  away.  The 

165 


Ashes  of  Roses 


war  broke  out  soon  after,  and — you  know 
the  rest." 

"Yes,"  I  said.  "And  that  part  is 
almost  as  sad  as  the  other.  You  have 
had  little  else  but  trouble,  always!" 

"  No,"  he  returned.  "  I  had  prosperity- 
after  a  while — what  the  world  calls  pros- 
perity. I  went  to  Mexico  after  the  war, 
and  became  interested  in  mines  there.  It's 
an  easy  way  to  get  rich,  and  a  quick 
one.  I  found  myself  a  millionaire  before 
I  realised  it,  but  the  gold  was  as  so  much 
ashes  in  my  fingers.  I  had  no  one  but 
myself  to  spend  it  on,  nothing  to  do  with 
it.  I  cared  nothing  for  it — and  for  that 
very  reason,  I  often  think,  it  came  pour- 
ing in  faster  and  faster,  for  Fortune  is 
fickle,  little  friend,  and  comes  oftenest 
when  she  is  least  valued.  If  I  had  had 
my  darling  to  take  care  of,  how  eagerly  I 
should  have  welcomed  it  for  her  sake! 
With  what  pride  I  would  have  placed  her 
in  a  palace,  and  gathered  around  her  the 
society  which  her  grace  and  beauty  so 
well  fitted  her  to  adorn!  I  would  have 
wished  all  the  world  to  see  my  jewel,  my 

1 66 


A  Simple  Service 


Pearl  without  price.  She  would  have 
been  a  queen,  and  I  her  humblest  of 
slaves — but  now  she  is  dead,  and  I  am  all 
alone." 

His  voice  trembled,  and  almost  broke, 
but  he  went  bravely  on. 

"  Even  in  heaven  I  shall  be  alone. 
Even  in  heaven  there  is  no  hope.  I  shall 
see  her  there,  but  she  will  be  dead,  the 
one  I  loved  and  trusted.  For  I  did  trust 
her,  to  the  uttermost.  I  believed  her 
when  she  said  she  loved  me.  And  she! — 
why,  I  found  out  long  afterward  that  she 
was  betrothed  to  him — that  other  one — 
all  the  time.  Think  of  that,  child.  She 
deceived  us  both,  though  I  suppose  he 
never  knew  it.  'His  promised  wife!' — 
and  still  she  laid  her  sweet  head  on  my 
breast,  and  listened  tearfully  to  my  pas- 
sionate words  of  love!  Oh,  God,  if  I 
could  have  died  then  and  there,  believing 
in  her,  trusting  in  her!  I  could  have 
been  so  happy  in  that  other  world,  watch- 
ing for  her,  loving  her,  waiting — oh,  so 
patiently ! — for  the  time  to  come  that  I 
might  clasp  her  in  my  arms  once  more, 

167 


Ashes  of  Roses 


for  all  Eternity!  But  no.  I  live,  and 
men  call  me  rich  and  great,  and  flatter 
me,  and  tell  me  it  is  a  fine  thing  to  be  as 
I  am.  And  I  go  home  to  my  lonely 
room,  day  after  day,  and  look  into  the 
faces  of  my  faithful  old  dogs,  and  envy 
them  in  that  when  they  lie  down  to  their 
last  sleep,  they  need  never  wake  again. 
For  if  life  has  been  so  long  without  her, 
I  dare  not  think  what  Eternity  will  be!" 

The  birds  in  the  sunshine  outside  sang 
of  love  and  hope  and  the  Resurrection, 
but  their  song  found  no  answering  chord 
in  the  poor  broken  heart.  If  she  could 
only  have  seen  him  now,  the  man  whose 
life  she  shattered  in  an  idle  hour,  her 
triumph  would  indeed  have  been  com- 
plete. Oh,  how  I  hated  her,  the  wicked, 
cruel  woman !  And  what  could  I  say  to 
sorrow  such  as  his?  I  struck  my  hands 
together  passionately.  What  could  I  do, 
what  could  I  do!  All  the  love  I  had  had 
for  her  memory,  all  the  tender  regard  I 
had  felt  for  that  "most  beautiful  of 
women"  changed  into  a  great  hate  and 
welled  up  in  my  heart,  till  the  words  I 

1 68 


A  Simple  Service 


might  have  said  were  choked  back,  un- 
uttered. 

I  have  sometimes  wondered  since,  how 
long  we  sat  there.  He  was  the  first  to 
break  the  silence,  and  then  he  simply  put 
out  his  hand  and  took  mine  within  it, 
holding  it  gently  as  one  might  a  little 
child's. 

"Don't,  Ruth,"  he  said  huskily. 
"Don't  do  that,  dear,"  and  as  I  looked 
up  at  him,  I  realised  for  the  first  time 
that  the  tears  were  rolling  down  my 
cheeks. 

"  I — I  can't  help  it,"  I  murmured.  "  I 
didn't  mean  to,  but — I'm  so  sorry  for 
you!" 

"Yes,  little  friend,  I  know  it,  and  I 
thank  you  for  your  sympathy.  But  I 
have  laid  too  great  a  burden  on  your  ten- 
der heart,  and  I  regret  indeed  that  I  have 
been  the  means  of  bringing  tears  into 
those  eyes,  which  should  hold  nothing  but 
gladness  and  light.  Come,  let  us  go.  I 
have  detained  you  far  too  long  already. 
Go  out  into  God's  sunny  world,  be  happy, 
and  forget  this  story  of  the  poor  lad  who 

169 


Ashes  of  Roses 


suffered  once,  long  ago.  It  is  over  now — 
he  will  not  suffer  any  more,  and  the  re- 
membrance of  it  will  only  be  a  shadow  on 
the  brightness  of  your  life.  Do  you  be- 
lieve me,  when  I  tell  you  that  I  would 
give  my  soul  to  spare  that  life  from  every- 
thing that  is  not  altogether  sweet  and 
beautiful  ?" 

"Yes,"  I  said.  And  in  spite  of  my  wet 
cheeks,  a  great  happiness  stole  into  my 
heart. 

We  had  risen,  and  still  stood  looking  at 
each  other — and  my  hand  still  lay  in  his. 

But  only  for  a  moment.  I  turned, 
picked  up  the  prayer-book  and  handker- 
chief that  lay  on  the  crimson  cushion,  and 
we  walked  slowly  down  the  aisle  together. 
At  the  door  we  parted  in  silence,  he  going 
his  way  and  I  mine. 

I  seemed  somehow  walking  in  a  dream, 
after  that.  Was  it  all  a  dream,  I  won- 
dered, and  would  I  wake,  after  a  while,  to 
find  myself  in  my  little  white  bed,  with 
the  low  church-bells  ringing  their  Sunday 
greeting?  The  sun  beat  cruelly  down 
upon  my  throbbing  head.  Dead,  dead, 
170 


A  Simple  Service 


dead !  The  words  sang  themselves  over 
and  over,  like  the  refrain  of  a  song  that 
one  cannot  forget,  nor  quite  recall.  She 
was  dead — through  all  Eternity!  And 
he  was  broken-hearted,  the  man  who  had 
trusted  her. 

It  was  not  a  dream  then,  after  all — that 
quiet  church,  the  bowed  white  head,  the 
poor  dead  rose?  Ah,  the  rose!  I  had 
forgotten  it.  Surely  I  could  not  leave  it 
to  die  alone  there  in  the  darkness.  I 
would  take  it  home  with  me  and  lay  it 
away,  in  girlish  fashion,  to  look  at  long 
afterward,  perhaps,  when  the  bitterness  of 
it  all  should  have  passed  away. 

I  turned  on  the  impulse — I  had  gone 
only  a  few  blocks — and  re-entered  the 
church. 

To  my  surprise,  there  in  the  old  corner 
where  I  had  first  seen  him,  he  was  kneel- 
ing, all  alone.  His  eyes  were  closed,  I 
knew  he  had  not  seen  me,  so  I  slipped 
softly  up  the  aisle  to  the  pew  where  we 
had  been  sitting.  But  not  even  the  tiniest 
of  the  pink  petals  rewarded  my  earnest 
search.  I  got  down  on  my  hands  and. 


Ashes  of  Roses 


knees  and  hunted  everywhere,  but  no 
trace  of  it  could  I  find,  except  the  faint, 
sweet  perfume  that  still  lingered  on  the 
air.  It  was  quite  gone — my  poor  little 
rose! 

173 


VI 

MY    SECRET 

THEY  were  eating  breakfast  when  I 
reached  home  at  last. 

"We  got  so  confoundedly  hungry,"  ex- 
plained Uncle  John,  as  I  took  my  seat. 
"Wasn't  the  service  very  long  to-day, 
my  dear?" 

"No,  sir,"  I  said  faintly.  "But  I— I 
stayed  a  little  while  afterward.  The 
church  was  so  pleasant." 

"Well,  I  must  say  I  don't  see  where 
the  pleasure  comes  in,"  remarked  my 
Aunt.  "  A  church  seems  to  me  about  the 
dullest  place  on  earth,  when  there  isn't 
any  service  going  on.  But  you  always 
did  have  such  odd  ideas — just  like  your 
poor  dear  mother.  Have  another  egg?" 

"No  thank  you,"  I  said,  wearily.  "I 
believe  I'm  not  very  hungry." 

"  There  \"     said     Aunt     Kate,    trium- 


Ashes  of  Roses 


phantly.  "  I  told  you  so,  John,  and  you 
can't  deny  it!  These  early  services  are 
all  nonsense,  and  I  don't  want  Ruth  to 
attempt  any  more  of  them  while  she  is 
with  us.  I  don't  believe  in  this  getting 
up  with  the  first  streak  of  daylight  and 
praying  for  hours  on  an  empty  stomach. 
No  wonder  the  child  can't  eat!  Look  at 
those  cheeks,  and  then  talk  to  me  about 
early  services!" 

"She  does  look  pale,"  Uncle  admitted. 
"  Don't  you  feel  well,  dear?" 

"I — I  have  a  little  headache,"!  fal- 
tered. "  It  was  pretty  warm  in  the  sun 
this  morning,  and — I  am  tired,  I  think. 
If  I  could  just  go  upstairs  and  lie  down  a 
little  while,  I  am  almost  sure  I  should  feel 
better." 

Of  course  there  was  nothing  to  be  said 
after  that,  and  I  soon  found  myself  in  my 
own  room,  alone  at  last  with  my  thoughts. 
The  others  started  reluctantly  for  church, 
without  me,  upon  being  assured  that  I 
wanted  nothing,  needed  nothing  but  rest, 
and  a  little  sleep.  I  smiled  to  myself  as 
I  heard  their  steps  die  away,  and  the  hall 


My  Secret 

door  gently  close.  Sleep  indeed!  After 
a  half-hour  like  the  one  I  had  just  passed! 

I  threw  myself  on  the  bed,  and  tried  to 
think  it  all  over  quietly.  He  had  an  en- 
gagement to  dine  with  us  that  day.  In  a 
few  hours  I  should  see  him,  and  I  must  be 
calm,  composed,  unconscious — to  the  out- 
side world — of  the  secret  that  was  in  my 
heart  now  as  well  as  his. 

But  instead  of  that,  I  found  myself  re- 
peating his  words  over  and  over,  living 
over  again  with  him  those  three  days  of 
torture.  My  nature  was  unusually  sensi- 
tive then  to  joy  or  sorrow,  and  the  sym- 
pathy I  gave  him  was  so  sincere  and 
intense  that  it  was  almost  pain.  I  put 
myself  in  his  place.  I  loved  as  he  had 
loved.  I  suffered  as  he  had  suffered.  I 
went  through  it  all  with  him,  and  my  own 
soul  quivered  with  his  pain.  And  there 
was  no  hope,  no  hope! 

The  white  curtains  still  stirred  in  the 
morning  wind,  just  as  they  had  done 
those  few  hours  ago,  but  I  only  turned 
my  face  to  the  wall,  and  closed  my  eyes, 
drearily. 


Ashes  of  Roses 


For  she  was  dead,  that  most  beautiful 
of  women,  dead  through  all  Eternity! 

Two  hours  later,  Aunt  Kate  opened  my 
door  softly,  and  peeped  in. 
"Still  asleep,  Ruth?" 
"  No,  Auntie,  dear.     Won't  you  come 


in  f 

She  entered,  closing  the  door  carefully 
behind  her.  A  faint  perfume  entered 
with  her,  which  I  saw  came  from  a  bunch 
of  pansies  in  her  hand.  Tiptoeing  up  to 
the  bed,  she  laid  the  flowers  on  my  pillow, 
their  cool,  velvety  cheeks  touching  my 
own  hot  one. 

"For  you,  dearie,"  she  whispered. 
"You  can't  guess  who  sent  them!" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Colonel  Dennington!  He  brought 
them  himself  just  now.  He  was  invited 
here  to  dinner  to-day,  you  know." 

"Yes,  I  know.  So  he  has  come, 
Auntie?  I  will  get  up  at  once." 

"Oh  no, "  replied  my  Aunt,  dropping 
into  a  chair,  and  leisurely  untying  her 
bonnet-strings.  "  He  was  here  a  moment 

176 


My  Secret 

ago,  but  just  stopped  to  leave  these,  and 
say  he  wouldn't  be  able  to  come  to  dinner 
after  all.  His  train  leaves  at  one  o'clock. 
How  is  your  head  feeling,  by  the  way?" 

"  Oh,  better,  thank  you.  But  his  train, 
Auntie? — I  don't  quite  understand." 

"Yes,  I  forgot  you  didn't  know.  He 
is  going  to  Chicago  on  the  1.20  this  after- 
noon. He  leaves  very  unexpectedly,  he 
says,"  she  went  on,  as  I  did  not  answer. 
"  There  was  a  telegram  or  something  this 
morning,  he  didn't  say  just  what,  but  it 
compels  him  to  be  in  Chicago  at  once.  It 
must  be  something  very  important — some- 
thing to  do  with  his  mining-stock,  I  sup- 
pose. They  say  his  mines  in  Mexico  are 
just  fabulously  rich.  But  then  of  course 
I  don't  know  that  it  is  that — these  rich 
men  have  so  many  different  interests,  they 
are  liable  to  be  called  away  like  this,  at 
any  time." 

Auntie  rocked  herself  complacently  to 
and  fro,  and  seemed  to  be  thoroughly  en- 
joying her  theme. 

"  At  any  rate,  he  is  obliged  to  leave  at 
once,  and  he  came  around  here  especially 

177 


Ashes  of  Roses 


to  say  good-bye,  which  was  certainly  very 
polite  in  him,  considering  he  had  so  little 
time.  I  wanted  to  wake  you  up  and 
have  you  come  downstairs,  but  he  wouldn't 
allow  me  to  disturb  you,  on  any  account, 
and  seemed  very  much  distressed  to  hear 
you  had  a  headache.  He  sent  his — let 
me  see,  compliments  I  think  it  was,  to 
'the  little  lady,'  and  said  the  pansies  were 
to  bring  you  his  good-bye  messages. 
He  said  to  tell  you  each  one  was  a 
thought." 

"Yes,"  I  said.  "Pansies  are  thoughts, 
always,"  and  as  I  looked  into  their  little 
faces,  I  read  his  silent  message.  I  knew 
why  he  had  gone,  and  from  the  bottom  of_ 
my  soul,  I  thanked  him. 

Life  went  on  about  as  usual,  after  that. 
The  summer  was  slowly,  slowly  slipping 
away,  and  September  languor  lay  over  all 
the  land. 

And  still  I  stayed  on,  though  the  letters 
from  the  dear  ones  at  home  were  getting 
more  and  more  impatient.  But  it  was  all 
so  beautiful,  those  lazy,  breathless  Sep- 

178 


My  Secret 

tember  days,  with  the  faint  autumn  haze 
over  the  brown  face  of  the  prairie,  like  a 
coquette's  veil.  Ah,  I  could  not  bear  to 
leave  it!  I  could  not — yet. 

Colonel  Dennington  had  been  back 
some  time,  and  had  fallen  at  once  into  his 
vacant  place  in  our  family  circle.  He 
was  looking  not  so  well  as  when  he  went 
away,  a  trifle  thinner,  everyone  said,  but 
no  wonder!  after  working  so  many  hot 
weeks  in  Chicago,  "  a  beastly  climate  in 
the  summer,"  they  told  me.  But  he 
seemed  in  good  spirits,  was  bright,  almost 
gay  at  times,  quite  his  old  self  again. 
Had  I  not  known  his  secret,  I  should  have 
supposed  him  the  most  light-hearted  fel- 
low on  earth.  He  was  as  kind  as  ever  to 
me,  and  we  went  riding  and  driving  fre- 
quently, and  had  many  helpful  little 
talks,  but  the  subject  uppermost  in  both 
our  minds  was  never  alluded  to  by  either 
of  us.  He  never  mentioned  it,  and  of 
course,  until  he  did  my  lips  were  sealed. 

But  at  last  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to 
go.  On  the  evening  before  my  departure, 
Auntie  and  Uncle  had  been  obliged  to  be 

179 


Ashes  of  Roses 


out  quite  unexpectedly,  I  remember,  but 
they  had  promised  to  be  home  at  the  first 
possible  moment,  and  put  me  laughingly 
in  charge  of  Colonel  Dennington  until 
their  return.  He  had  taken  dinner  with 
us,  and  we  were  all  expecting  to  spend  a 
cosy  last  evening  together. 

"  But  the  fates  have  decreed  otherwise," 
Uncle  John  remarked,  as  they  went  out. 
"  Take  good  care  of  her,  Colonel,  and 
don't  let  her  get  lonely.  We'll  be  back 
by  nine  o'clock  sure." 

It  was  a  cool  evening,  and  the  crack- 
ling wood-fire  was  wonderfully  pleasant. 
We  drew  close  up  to  it,  he  in  his  big 
velvet  arm-chair  and  I  on  a  pile  of  cush- 
ions on  the  hearth-rug,  my  chin  on  my  two 
hands,  my  eyes  bent  on  the  leaping  flames, 
very  happy  and  contented  to  be  quiet. 
In  fact,  we  both  seemed  unusually  quiet, 
I  remember.  To  tell  the  truth  I  had 
something  on  my  mind  that  night,  some- 
thing that  I  wanted  to  say  to  him  before 
I  went  away.  How  had  I  best  approach 
it,  I  wondered,  and  glanced  up  at  him 
furtively,  only  to  find  him  looking  down 

i  So 


My  Secret 

at  me  with  a  queer,  steady  gaze  that  made 
me  laugh. 

"You  look  so  funny!"  I  explained. 
"  Oh,  don't  you  think  this  fire  is  just 
lovely?" 

"Indeed  I  do." 

"  I  like  it  here,  it  is  so  warm  and  cosy 
and  bright.  I  feel  just  as  happy!" 

"  And  why  do  you  feel  particularly 
happy  to-night,  Ruth?" 

He  asked  it  smilingly,  but  he  was  look- 
ing at  me  very  intently. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  The  fire,  I  suppose. " 

"  But  we  have  had  the  fire  before,  you 
know." 

"That's  so.  Well,  perhaps  it's  because 
I'm  going  home  so  soon.  I  can't  think 
of  any  other  reason." 

"Yes, "he  said.  "Of  course  it  must 
be  that." 

"You  see,"  I  explained,  after  a  mo- 
ment's calculation  on  my  fingers.  "  It  is 
eighty-four,  no  eighty-five  days  since  I 
went  away  from  everybody,  and  that's  an 
awfully  long  time.  Don't  you  think  so 
yourself?" 

181 


Ashes  of  Roses 


"Yes.     I  suppose  so." 

"It  is  so  sweet  at  home,"  I  added, 
softly.  "  And  they  will  all  be  so  glad  to 
see  me." 

"Yes,"  he  said  again.  And  then  for  a 
long  time  he  sat  very  still,  looking  into 
the  fire. 

And  I,  too,  was  quite  content  to  be 
silent.  I  had  pushed  my  cushions  close 
to  his  chair,  and  was  sitting  with  my  head 
resting  on  the  broad  velvet  arm.  His 
hand,  which  was  lying  not  far  from  me 
upon  his  knee,  trembled  for  an  instant, 
and  then  lay  more  still  than  ever,  almost 
as  if  he  were  holding  it  quiet  by  sheer 
effort  of  the  will.  With  a  half-sigh,  I 
closed  my  eyes — it  was  very  happy  and 
restful,  somehow. 

"Are  you  sorry  I'm  going?"  I  said,  at 
last.  "  Shall  you  miss  me  just  a  little 
bit?" 

Again  I  saw  the  hand  tremble,  but  he 
only  said  as  quietly  as  ever: 

"Miss  you,  little  one?  Don't  you 
know  that  it  seems  like  taking  all  the  sun- 
shine out  of  my  life,  to  let  you  go  ?" 

182 

. 


My  Secret 

"No,"  I  said,  gently.  "I  didn't  know 
that." 

"  Your  friendship  has  been  so  very 
precious,"  he  went  on,  slowly.  "It  has 
been  more  to  me  than  you  can  ever 
know.  If  it  were  not  so  much — "  he  fal- 
tered. "  I  could  tell  you  about  it  more 
easily." 

"  I  am  so  glad,"  I  cried,  "  and  I  do  hope 
you  won't  forget  me." 

"No,  "he  said.  "I  can  never  forget. 
When  I  think  of  you  now,  I  always  see 
that  day  in  the  church,  when  you  knelt 
with  your  little  hands  clasped,  and  your 
face  upturned  like  some  angel  of  God,  so 
innocent  and  holy  it  seemed  like  profa- 
nation even  to  look  at  you.  I  went  to 
Chicago  to  try  to  forget  that  picture,  to 
drive  away  the  remembrance  of  it.  But 
I  could  not,  though  I  tried  with  all  my 
soul  and  strength." 

I  hung  my  head,  not  knowing  what  to 
say.  The  fire  leaped  and  glowed  and 
lighted  up  the  corners  of  the  room  into 
countless  sparkles.  And  then  there  was 
another  long  silence,  in  which  he  sat  idly 

183 


Ashes  of  Roses 


watching  me,  shading  his  eyes  with  his 
hand. 

"  Did  you  know  that  I  did  not  tell  you 
all  my  secret  that  day  ?"  he  said  at  last. 

"  No,"  I  said.  "  I  thought  you  told  me 
all." 

"  Nearly  all.  But  there  is  one  little 
part  that  I  kept  to  myself, — that  I  meant 
never  to  have  told  you.  I  went  away  to 
keep  from  telling  you,  but  it  was  no  use. 
I  have  come  back,  you  see,  and — I  believe 
I  should  like  you  to  know  it  before  you 
go  away." 

"Yes?"  I  answered,  leaning  forward, 
the  better  to  look  into  his  face.  "  What 
is  it?" 

I  couldn't  help  noticing  that  in  spite 
of  his  smiling  lips  and  light  tone,  he  was 
very,  very  white. 

"It's  a  secret,"  he  answered.  "The 
other  was  not,  but  this  is  my  very  own 
secret  that  I've  never  told  anybody  in  the 
whole  world.  Would  you  like  to  hear 
it?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  I  said,  smiling  brightly.  "  I 
would  indeed!  And  it's  so  nice  in  you  to 

184 


My  Secret 

want  me  to  know.  I  think  such  friends 
as  we  should  always  confide  in  each  other. 
And  you  see,  I  have  a  secret,  too,  that  I 
want  to  tell  you  before  I  go.  Isn't  that 
a  funny  coincidence?" 

"  Remarkable !  What  may  it  be, 
please?" 

"Well,  you  tell  yours,  and  I'll  tell 
mine.  That's  only  fair,  don't  you  think  ?" 

"But  you  must  tell  yours  first!" 

"Oh,  I  will,"  I  cried,  with  an  alacrity 
that  must  have  surprised  him  somewhat. 
"Oh  the  fact  is, — the  fact  is,  I'm  just 
bursting  to  tell  it,  and  have  been  all  the 
evening!  It's  such  a  splendid  secret,"  I 
added. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  that,  and  you  see 
I  am  all  attention." 

But  "  splendid"  though  it  were,  my 
secret  seemed  a  hard  one  to  tell  after  all, 
and  I  wriggled  a  good  deal  under  his 
questioning  glance. 

"  I  haven't  told  it  to  so  very  many  peo- 
ple yet,  you  know,"  I  murmured,  "and  I 
am  not  so  very  much  used  to  it.  You 
see,  the  fact  is — 'it's  funny  you  never  sus- 

185 


Ashes  of  Roses 


pected! — but  I — I'm  going  to  be  married 
at  Christmas." 

The  fire  gave  a  great  leap,  and  then 
died  down  a  little,  flickering  redly.  After 
that  the  room  seemed  suddenly  to  have 
grown  quite  still.  We  could  hear  the 
clock  in  the  next  room  ticking  faintly. 

"  You  are  surprised  ?"  I  asked,  glancing 
shyly  up  at  him. 

"Yes." 

He  was  shading  his  eyes  in  the  old  way, 
and  his  face  was  hidden  for  the  moment. 

"  Of  course  I  wanted  to  tell  you  about 
it  before  I  went  away,"  I  continued  softly. 

"  Thank  you, "  said  the  Colonel.  "  That 
was  certainly  most  kind." 

"Oh  not  at  all,"  I  returned,  affably, 
hugging  my  knees.  "  Not  in  the  least.  I 
wanted  you  to  know.  But  I  am  just  a 
little  surprised  that  you  shouldn't  have 
guessed  it  yourself,"  I  added,  nodding  my 
head  wisely. 

"It  was  surprising,  perhaps,"  he  ad- 
mitted. "  But  you  know  you  never  spoke 
of  it  before." 

"  No-o.      Bu,t    then,    you    know,    you 

1 86 


My  Secret 

never  asked  me.  I  would  have  told  you 
in  a  minute  if  you  had.  This  is  his  ring," 
waving  it  proudly  in  the  firelight.  "You 
must  have  noticed  it,  for  I've  worn  it  all 
the  time.  Isn't  it  a  beauty  ?" 

But  he  did  not  answer,  he  seemed 
scarcely  to  have  heard.  I  did  not  mind, 
however,  being  left  alone  with  my 
thoughts,  for  they  were  very  happy  ones 
just  then.  There  in  the  flames,  as  it  had 
been  all  the  evening,  was  the  dear  far- 
away face  of  the  one  I  loved,  and  who 
minds  being  alone,  as  the  Irishman  says, 
when  your  sweetheart  is  with  you ! 

It  was  not  long,  however,  before  Colo- 
nel Dennington  bent  over  me  with  the  old 
smile  in  his  eyes. 

"Congratulations!"  he  said,  heartily, 
"and  many  of  them.  I  only  hope  the 
lucky  fellow,  whoever  he  may  be,  is  half 
worthy  of  you." 

"Oh,  but  he  is!"  I  cried,  stoutly,  put- 
ting both  my  hands  in  his.  "  He  is  just 
as  worthy  as  he  can  be.  Why,  he's  the 
very  best  man  in  the  world,  Colonel 
Dennington!" 

187 


Ashes  of  Roses 


"Of  course  he  is!  I  haven't  a  doubt 
of  that,  or  he  would  never  have  won  your 
heart.  But  come  and  tell  me  all  about  it. 
I  was  so  surprised  just  now  that  I  could 
hardly  say  a  word.  But  of  course  I  want 
to  hear  all  about  this  wonderful  'best  man' 
who  is  going  to  carry  off  my  little  friend. 
Who  is  he,  what  is  he,  where  is  he  ?" 

I  obeyed  most  willingly,  you  may  be 
sure,  and  the  Colonel  listened  attentively, 
one  hand  lying  lightly  and  almost  uncon- 
sciously on  my  brown  curls,  as  I  sat  at  his 
feet,  with  my  head  in  its  old  place  against 
the  arm  of  his  chair. 

"Well, "I  said.  "To  begin  with,  his 
name  is  Tom,  and  we  have  known  each 
other — oh  just  always!" 

"Good!  I  like  that.  So  he  lives  in 
Portland,  too?" 

"Well,  no — not  exactly.  He  does 
when  he's  home,  but  he's  been  in  college 
for  the  last  four  years." 

"  Ah,  I  see.     A  professional  man  ?" 

"Yes,  and  he  does  know  so  much!" 
with  a  sudden  burst  of  enthusiasm.  "  He 
is  going  to  be  a  professor  next  year,  right 

188 


My  Secret 

in  the  same  college  where  he  graduated. 
Isn't  that  splendid?  And  he's  only 
twenty-four." 

"  He  must  be  a  smart  fellow,  surely. 
But  that  is  next  year,  you  say  ?" 

"  Yes.  He  wants  to  go  abroad  this 
year  and  perfect  himself  in  his  specialty, 
and — and  he  wants  me  to  go  too,  and 
help  him.  We're  going  together  after 
we're — after  Christmas." 

"  And  you  will  be  a  great  deal  of  help 
to  him,  no  doubt,"  said  Colonel  Denning- 
ton,  smoothing  my  hair  with  a  queer  little 
smile. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered.  "  That  is  what  he 
says.  It  seems  rather  funny,  doesn't  it? 
But  he — he  is  ever  so  fond  of  me,"  I 
added,  smiling  into  the  face  looking  out 
upon  us  from  the  fire,  "  more  than  you 
might  think,  perhaps." 

"  And  you  are  to  be  married  at  Christ- 
mas?" 

"Yes.     Isn't  it  nice?" 

"Oh,  delightful!" 

"  And  you  never  suspected  it  all  this 
time?" 

189 


Ashes  of  Roses 


"Never,  I  assure  you." 

"  Why,  how  funny !  When  I  was  getting 
letters  from  him  every  single  day." 

"It  was  rather  stupid  of  me,  wasn't  it? 
But  you  see  it  never  occurred  to  me  to 
read  your  letters!" 

And  then  we  both  laughed. 

How  pleasant  the  evening  had  grown, 
and  how  kind  and  lovely  my  old  friend 
was!  He  seemed  interested  in  every- 
thing, so  sincerely  glad  to  think  that  I  was 
happy.  I  don't  believe  I  ever  loved  him 
better  than  I  did  that  night,  as  we  sat 
together  for  the  last  time  in  the  firelight, 
and  I  told  him,  half  shyly,  yet  with  a 
proudly-beating  heart,  all  about  my  hand- 
some young  lover,  and  our  plans  for  the 
future. 

"  You  see  our  engagement  is  rather  dif- 
ferent from  most,"  I  remember  saying. 
'*  We  grew  up  side  by  side  and  played  to- 
gether, always,  and  so  it  was  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world  that  we  should 
love  each  other.  I'm  sure  I  don't  know 
when  it  began — when  we  were  babies,  I 
think,  for  as  long  ago  as  I  can  remember 

190 


My  Secret 

Tom  used  to  call  me  his  little  sweetheart, 
and  say  he  was  going  to  marry  me  when  he 
got  to  be  a  man.  We  never  had  any  real 
courting,  as  I  suppose  most  people  have." 

"No,"  said  the  Colonel,  and  the  ghost 
of  a  smile  quivered  about  the  corners  of 
his  mouth.  "  You  do  not  appear  like  a 
little  woman  who  has  been  through  with 
much  of  that  sort  of  thing." 

"Oh  no,"  I  chattered  on.  "I  never 
had  a  real  lover  in  all  my  life.  I  suppose 
they  are  rather  nice  things,  perhaps,  but 
I  wouldn't  give  up  Tom  for  all  the  lovers 
in  the  world.  He  is  such  a  comfort  to 
me,  always!  In  fact,  now  I  come  to  think 
of  it,"  I  added,  solemnly,  "I  don't  be- 
lieve I  ever  even  had  a  proposal.  It 
seems  quite  dreadful,  doesn't  it?" 

"  A  little  strange,  perhaps,  under  the 
circumstances.  Think  a  minute.  Per- 
haps you've  forgotten  it,  you  know." 

I  shook  my  head  dubiously. 

"I  never  thought  about  it  before,  but 
it  seems  to  me  I  should  remember  it,  if 
there  had  ever  been  one.  Don't  you 
think  girls  usually  remember  such  things  ?" 

191 


Ashes  of  Roses 


"I  should  think  it  quite  likely — yes." 

"Well,  I  should  think  so  too,  so  I  fancy 
that  proves  that  I've  never  had  any,  at 
least  not  any  of  the  regular  kind.  All  he 
said  was,  'I  must  go  abroad  after  Christ- 
mas, dear.  Wouldn't  you  like  to  go  with 
me?'" 

"  To  which  you  said  yes,  undoubtedly." 

"  Not  at  all.  I  said  no.  I  told  him 
I'd  like  to  go  ever  so  much,  but  I  didn't 
believe  it  would  be  quite  proper,  I  didn't 
think  papa  would  let  me.  And  then  he 
laughed — "  my  own  eyes  began  to  twinkle 
at  the  remembrance,  "  and  said  I  was  a 
dear  little  goose,  and — and  some  other 
things  besides  (Tom  does  say  such  foolish 
things  sometimes!  You'd  be  surprised!). 
And  he  told  me  that  of  course  we  would 
be  married  first,  and  who  was  to  prevent 
his  taking  me  with  him' then,  he'd  like  to 
know?" 

I  looked  up  with  a  radiant  smile. 

"  Isn't  it  splendid!  And  oh  dear,  it  is 
so  nice  to  be  engaged — about  the  nicest 
thing  in  the  world." 

But  the  smile  that  came  in  answer  was 

192 


My  Secret 

a  fleeting  one,  and  left  something  in  his 
face  that  I  had  never  seen  before. 

"Why — what  is  the  matter?"  I  cried, 
looking  up  at  him  anxiously,  "  you  look  so 
queer." 

"Queer?" 

"Yes.  You  look  as  if — as  if — oh,  I 
don't  know,  I  can't  explain.  But  there! 
It  is  gone  now.  Something  came  over 
your  face  like  a  shadow,  almost,  and  then 
went  away  again,  just  as  quickly." 

"  Perhaps  it  was  a  shadow,  Ruth.  Such 
things  will  come  toward  the  sunset  time, 
you  know." 

After  that  another  long  lazy  silence  fell 
upon  us.  The  hand  which  had  trembled 
awhile  ago,  when  I  had  laid  my  head 
down  on  the  arm  of  his  chair,  was  still 
resting  on  my  hair,  without  a  quiver  now, 
almost  as  a  priest's  might  lie  in  quiet 
benediction. 

"Tell  me  a  story,"  I  whispered  at  last. 
"  You  tell  such  beautiful  ones,  and  this 
will  be  the  very  last  time,  you  know." 

He  roused  himself  from  his  reverie,  and 
turned  his  gentle  eyes  full  upon  me. 

193 


Ashes  of  Roses 


"  How  can  I,  little  lady  ?  I  have  told 
you  all  I  know." 

"Then  make  up  one,"  I  responded, 
promptly.  "You  can,  I'm  sure,  and  I 
just  want  one  more  for  a  good-bye. 
Won't  you,  please?" 

"  Indeed  I  will,  if  it  will  give  you  any 
pleasure,  but  it  won't  be  a  very  interest- 
ing one,  I  fear.  My  thoughts  all  seem 
to  have  shadows  tangled  in  them  to- 
night." 

"Oh,  never  mind,"  I  returned,  closing 
my  eyes  contentedly.  "  It  will  be  a  nice 
one,  I  know.  Never  mind  if  it  is  shadowy. 
You  wouldn't  tell  a  gay  one,  surely,  in 
this  dreamy  firelight — and  a  good-bye 
story,  too?" 

"  No,  I  suppose  not.  Let  me  look  in 
the  fire  a  few  moments,  and  perhaps  I  can 
find  my  inspiration  there.  But  no — all  I 
can  see  is  a  little  white  rose  growing  right 
out  of  the  heart  of  the  flames.  It  has  a 
story,  though,  it  may  be.  Shall  I  try  to 
find  it  for  you  ?" 

"Oh,  I  would  like  it  so  much!  It 
sounds  pretty  already." 

194 


My  Secret 

"Ah,  I  thought  that  would  please  you. 
Well,  once  upon  a  time — you  like  stories 
to  begin  that  way,  I  remember — once 
upon  a  time  there  lived  a  man  in  the 
midst  of  a  beautiful  garden.  Many  rare 
flowers  were  within  it,  but  none  that 
seemed  half  so  sweet  to  him  as  a  certain 
white  rose  which  grew  all  alone  in  a  quiet 
corner, — a  rose  which  was  so  fair  that  he 
came  by-and-by  to  love  it  very  dearly, 
more  than  anything  else  in  all  the  world. 
But  one  day  a  strange  thing  happened. 
He  found  that  the  little  rose  he  loved  so 
well  had  fallen  from  its  stem,  and  was 
lying  on  the  ground  at  his  feet,  crushed 
and  dying.  And  not  only  that,  but  the 
whole  bush  on  which  it  had  been  growing 
was  broken  too,  and  its  leaves  strewn  in 
the  grass,  almost  as  if  a  great  wind  had 
come  in  the  night,  and  destroyed  it 
utterly.  As  he  looked  at  it  he  grew  most 
sorrowful.  And  he  sat  down  beside  the 
place  where  his  dear  rose  had  been,  and 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  wept 
bitterly.  And  then  he  laid  all  that  was 
left  of  it  tenderly  away  in  the  earth, 


Ashes  of  Roses 


where  its  home  had  been  so  long,  and 
walked  away  with  a  very  heavy  heart. 

"  He  walked  on  and  on  for  many  days, 
but  never  could  he  walk  far  enough  to 
forget  that  little  rose.  No  matter  where 
he  might  wander,  he  would  always  come 
back  at  last  to  that  quiet  corner  of  the 
garden,  and  sit  down  beside  the  little 
grave.  They  told  him  not  to  grieve  so 
over  the  ghost  of  a  dead  rose,  but  to  look 
around  him  and  see  other  flowers  just  as 
sweet  and  beautiful.  But  he  only  shook 
his  head.  They  did  not  understand. 
They  could  not  know,  as  he  did,  that  a 
part  of  him  lay  there  buried  with  it. 
And  so  the  years  slipped  away,  and  the 
man  grew  old  and  feeble  and  walked  with 
a  heavy  step,  but  the  old  sorrow  was  still 
young  in  his  heart. 

"  One  spring  day,  as  he  was  sitting  in 
his  accustomed  place,  he  fell  asleep  and 
— and  dreamed  a  very  curious  dream. 
He  thought  that  as  he  looked,  a  tiny  bit 
of  green  pushed  its  way  from  the  heart  of 
his  little  dead  rose,  and  lifted  its  head  to 
the  sun.  He  thought  the  days  passed, 

196 


My  Secret 

and  the  dews  fell  upon  it,  and  the  sun 
warmed  it  each  morning  with  its  kisses — 
and  slowly,  slowly  it  grew,  taller  and 
straighter  and  more  beautiful.  But  the 
man  turned  aside.  He  could  not  believe 
it.  He  even  walked  away,  and  for  a  long 
time  did  not  come  back.  But  when  he 
did  at  last,  he  found — oh,  wonder  of 
wonders! — a  new  white  rosebud  smiling 
in  the  sunshine.  He  held  his  breath  as 
he  looked.  Could  it  be  his  own  lost  rose 
come  back  to  him?  Slowly  the  flower 
grew  before  his  yearning  eyes,  unfolding 
leaf  by  leaf,  until  at  last  it  lay  in  the  sun- 
shine— a  perfect  rose  looking  up  into  his 
face! 

"  Then  the  man  was  very  happy.  Was 
it  indeed  sent  to  him  by  Heaven  to  com- 
pensate for  all  the  long  years  he  had  suf- 
fered ?  Could  it  be  that  it  had  risen  from 
the  ashes  of  the  first,  as  fragrant,  as 
beautiful — his  own  come  back  to  him  ? 
Was  there  no  death,  after  all  ?  A  great 
joy  grew  in  his  heart,  too  deep  for  words 
to  express.  He  reached  out  his  hand, 
and  picked  the  fragile  blossom,  and  laid 

197 


Ashes  of  Roses 


it  in  his  bosom — and  the  years  that  had 
been  so  long  and  lonely  were  quite  for- 
gotten, lost, — as  in  a  mist." 

The  quiet  voice  ceased,  and  I  looked 
quickly  up  into  his  face. 

"Ah,  that  is  not  a  sad  story  at  all!"  I 
cried.  "  I  think  it  is  lovely,  and  I  am  so 
glad  that  the  poor  man  got  his  rose  after 
all." 

"  But  he  didn't  get  it,  little  one.  I  had 
not  quite  finished.  He  woke  up  after  a 
while,  you  know,  and  found  that  there  was 
no  white  rose  after  all — nothing  but  the 
little  empty  grave." 

"And  it  had  been  only  a  dream?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  Colonel,  still  looking 
quietly  into  the  fire.  "  Only  a  dream, 
dear,  after  all !" 

I  crept  closer  to  the  velvet  chair. 

"  Then  it  is  a  very  sad  story,  and — I 
don't  like  it." 

"Oh  no,"  he  replied,  quickly.  "It  is 
not  at  all  sad.  I  think  the  remembrance 
of  his  beautiful  dream  must  have  made 
the  man  happy  all  his  life.  Don't  you?" 

"  But   it   was  too  bad  not  to   have   it 

198 


My  Secret 

true,"  I  persisted.  "Not  just  a  dream, 
you  know.  It  must  have  been  so  much 
harder  for  him  afterward  when  he  woke  up. 
And  it  would  have  been  so  much  nicer 
and — better,  if  it  could  have  been  true." 

"No,"  he  replied.  "I— I  think  not. 
Better  for  him,  perhaps,  but — the  heart 
of  an  old  man  is  no  fit  resting-place  for  so 
tender  a  thing  as  a  white  rose.  In  his 
dream  it  might  have  seemed  so — all  things 
are  right,  in  dreams.  But  God  knew  best 
after  all,  when  He  did  not  let  the  dream 
come  true." 

"But  the  awakening  must  have  been  so 
hard,  poor  fellow!" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  quietly.  "It  must 
have  been — hard." 

The  words  were  spoken  simply,  but 
seemed  almost  to  end  the  conversation, 
as  if  there  were  nothing  left  to  say.  It 
was  hard — but  that  was  all.  So  neither 
of  us  said  much  after  that.  We  seemed 
contented  with  our  own  thoughts,  and 
Auntie  and  Uncle  coming  in  a  few  min- 
utes later,  our  last  evening  together  was 
at  an  end. 

199 


Ashes  of  Roses 


"  Dennington,  my  dear  fellow,  what  have 
you  been  doing  to  yourself?"  asked  Uncle 
John,  as  the  Colonel  rose  to  take  his 
leave.  "  You  are  as  white  as  a  ghost, 
man!" 

"  You  surely  don't  expect  roses  on  these 
old  cheeks,  Mr.  Arnold  ?"  laughed  the 
Colonel,  holding  out  his  hand  to  Aunt 
Kate.  "  Or,  if  I  must  wear  some,  I  have 
rather  a  partiality  for  white  ones,  as  the 
little  lady  here  can  testify.  And  now 
good-night.  I  will  drop  in  to-morrow  for 
a  few  minutes,  if  I  may." 

"Well,  there's  no  use  talking,"  said 
Uncle  John,  coming  back  into  the  par- 
lour, having  been  to  the  door  with  his 
guest.  "  There's  no  use  talking,  Kate, 
there's  something  the  matter  with  Den- 
nington. His  hand  shook  so  just  now  he 
could  hardly  open  the  door.  I  tried  to 
make  him  take  a  glass  of  wine,  but  he 
said  he  was  all  right,  and  insisted  on 
going." 

"I  guess  he's  getting  pretty  old,"  I 
remarked,  sagely. 

"  It  isn't  that,  my  dear,"  put  in  Auntie. 


My  Secret 

"You  forget  how  he  broke  down  his  con- 
stitution in  that  horrid  war!" 

And  so  the  subject  was  dismissed. 

Twenty-four  hours  later,  I  waved  my 
hands  to  the  little  group  on  the  platform, 
and  rolled  slowly  out  of  Prairie  City.  It 
was  hard  to  say  good-bye;  the  words  I 
tried  to  speak  had  stuck  in  my  throat. 
But  it  was  over,  now,  and  except  for  the 
great  bunch  of  pink  roses  drooping  on 
the  seat  opposite,  and  a  lump  in  my  throat 
that  was  somehow  choking  me,  my  whole 
summer  in  Prairie  City  might  have  been  a 
happy  dream. 

It  had  been  harder  than  I  had  thought 
to  part  with  them  all,  especially  with  the 
friend  who  had  been  so  kind  to  me.  He 
had  been  the  last  one  to  jump  off  the  car, 
his  low  "God  bless  you,  dear!"  the  last 
words  that  I  had  heard  as  the  train 
moved  away.  And  when  I  went  to  the 
window,  afterward,  to  wave  another  fare- 
well to  those  outside,  his  face  was  the  last 
that  I  had  seen,  as  he  stood  alone,  look- 
ing after  me,  the  slow-beating  autumn 


Ashes  of  Roses 


rain  falling  softly  upon  his  uncovered 
head.  I  wondered  if  I  should  ever  see 
him  again!  If  I  should  ever 

"Your  ticket,  miss?" 

I  shook  the  tears  from  my  lashes  and 
opened  my  purse.  My  visit,  indeed,  was 
over,  and  the  new  life  had  begun. 

"My  own  darling!" 

Of  course  it  was  Tom,  taller,  hand- 
somer, more  altogether  lovely  in  my  eyes 
than 'ever.  Two  big  arms  were  around 
me  in  a  moment,  and  I  was  literally  un- 
able to  speak  a  single  word,  for  reasons 
which  will,  perhaps,  be  too  obvious  to 
need  further  explanation. 

"So  you  are  really  back  at  last!"  he 
cried,  as  we  went  rattling  homeward,  in 
Tom's  papa's  coupe,  "and  that  con- 
founded old  Captain  What's-his-name 
didn't  run  off  with  you  after  all!" 

"  You  bad  boy !  You  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  yourself! — What  a  lovely  new 
overcoat,  dear! — He  isn't  confounded  at 
all.  He  is  nice,  and  I  like  him  very 
much,"  this  last  with  much  dignity. 


My  Secret 

"The  dickens  you  do!" 

"Now  don't  be  cross,  dear,  but  listen. 
I  like  him  very,  very,  very  much — now 
hush! — but  I  don't  like  him  one-half,  nor 
one-thousandth  nor  one  twenty-millionth 
as  much  as  I  do  you.  There !  Are  you 
satisfied  ?" 

He  was.  And  the  matter  was  settled 
quite  amicably,  though  I  found  it  safest 
to  wear  my  hat  on  the  opposite  seat,  dur- 
ing the  rest  of  the  way  home. 

And  what  a  home-coming  it  was! 

Everybody  was  waiting  with  open  arms, 
from  papa  down  to  the  cook.  Why,  it 
was  well  worth  the  perilous  journey  half 
across  the  continent,  and  into  the  very 
teeth  of  cowboys  and  coyotes,  just  to  get 
home  again,  and  see  all  the  dear  faces, 
and  be  perched  up  like  a  goddess  on  a 
pedestal  and  gazed  at,  and  petted,  and 
listened  to,  and  admired,  and  scolded, 
and  kissed !  I  was  allowed  to  talk  from 
morn  till  dewy  eve,  and  the  whole  family 
sat  around  and  listened  and  applauded 
and  stared  until  my  vain  little  heart  was 
fairly  bursting  with  pride.  Oh  what  a 

203 


Ashes  of  Roses 


good  time  I  had  during  those  first  few 
days!  And  how  the  whole  household 
hung  on  my  words,  and  oh'ed  and  ah'ed 
at  the  right  places  with  flattering  regu- 
larity ! 

I  am  glad  to  remember  as  I  look  back 
on  that  delightful  epoch  that  I  made  the 
most  of  my  time,  for  it  didn't  last  long. 
All  too  soon  the  novelty  wore  off,  and  I 
descended  meekly  from  my  pinnacle  and 
assumed  my  old  place  in  the  household. 
The  days  flew  by  on  golden  wings  after 
that,  and — Christmas  day  came  at  last, 
and  Tom  and  I  stepped  out  into  the  world 
to  begin  a  new  life  together. 

We  have  been  married  for  a  long  time 
now,  and  as  I  raise  my  eyes  from  my  writ- 
ing to-night,  I  see  in  the  dear  face  opposite 
many  a  line  that  care  has  brought.  But 
there  are  lines  in  my  own  face,  too,  and 
the  brown  hair  that  Tom  used  to  love  so 
well  is  getting  slowly  streaked  with  gray. 
But  we  do  not  love  each  other  any  the 
less  for  that, — nay,  more,  for  each  line 
and  each  silver  hair  means  some  care  that 

204 


My  Secret 

has  come  to  us,  and  served  only  to 
draw  each  nearer  to  the  other,  in  perfect 
love. 

I  have  been  reading  over  my  little  story 
from  beginning  to  end.  Will  it  interest 
anyone,  I  wonder  as  I  lay  it  down?  I 
rise  and  steal  over  to  my  husband,  and 
tell  him  that  it  is  finished  at  last. 

"  All  done,  sweetheart  ?"  he  says, 
fondly. 

"Yes,  Tom,  all  done  except  one  little 
bit  that  I  cannot  get  now.  But  it  is 
not  very  important — the  story  is  com- 
plete without  it,  and  so  I'll  let  it  go,  I 
think." 

The  little  bit  I  mean  is  the  secret  Colo- 
nel Dennington  said  he  had  to  tell  me 
that  last  evening  in  Prairie  City.  It 
occurs  to  me  now,  in  reading  it  over,  that 
he  never  referred  to  it  again.  But — it 
does  not  matter.  Though  I  have  not 
heard  of  him  now  for  many  years,  of  this 
much  I  am  sure — that  somewhere  we  shall 
meet  again.  Somewhere  I  shall  look 
up  into  that  kind  face,  and  our  hands 
shall  touch  agajn  in  the  quiet  clasp  of 

205 


Ashes  of  Roses 


friendship,  and  there  will  be  no  need  of  a 
word  between  us,  for  I  shall  understand, 
at  last. 

Where  will  that  Somewhere  be  ?     Per- 
haps— who  knows? — in  heaven. 

206 


THE    END. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGION* 

A     000110849     7 


